Missing Pieces
by OnceUponSomeChaos
Summary: Picking up where my short fic "Leaving Neverland" ended (around 3x10), we see how that one night affects both Emma & Killian in Storybrooke. When Pan's Curse is imminent, Killian offers to escape the curse with Emma & Henry, but he isn't prepared for the result. Canon divergence but still will follow show's events. Rated *M*, but most content will be rated *T*.
1. Prologue

_**Missing Pieces is the sequel to my fic "Leaving Neverland". With the exception of the events occurring in "Leaving Neverland", it follows show canon until Pan's Curse.**_

_Feel free to read it if you want the um, hot steamy details, but the prologue makes it very clear what happened._

_This prologue (which is the longest prologue ever, partially because my lovely beta kept saying "more more") begins shortly after we ended "Leaving Neverland" and follows most of the canon from 3x10 and 3x11 (until just before the curse hits). If the scene isn't mentioned, assume it directly follows canon. A few scenes were re-visted to show how the added (non-canon) events in Leaving Neverland might have had even greater effect on Killian and Emma._

_Some dialogue is not mine and belongs to Once Upon a Time, as we re-visit canon scenes from the show._

_**And then we diverge into an alternate universe where… well, you'll see…**_

* * *

_This will likely be a multi-chapter fic of undetermined length, lasting over the missing year._

* * *

_**Prologue**_

Swan was going to kill him.

Figuratively speaking.

Killian stared at Emma, willing her to look his way across the diner. To give him a sign, any sign that she welcomed his presence and he could approach her.

_Look at me. Let me in._

Not a word.

Not a look.

Nothing since they'd arrived in Storybrooke.

Like he ceased to exist, faded away until only a ghost.

_Please._

Her eyes flicked toward him and for moment—a tiny moment—the hope in his chest grew.

It was over with a blink, her eyes back to her boy.

_Bloody hell._

Her actions were not a surprise, even expected.

He'd believed himself prepared for her to withdraw, to shove him away after allowing him so close.

But that bloody hope. Refusing to go away.

_Her taste on his lips, his tongue. Her body and eyes telling him…_

Whatever alcohol he swilled was not strong enough for what he had to do.

_I'm making the right choice._

_For the boy._

_She and Baelfire have unfinished business._

_She won't let him in._

_Most likely._

_She already allowed me to see inside, to glimpse her heart._

_She will again._

_But she's afraid to trust me._

_I just have to wait._

_Assuming the wait doesn't bloody well kill me._

"I didn't think they served rum at Granny's." Bae—Neal slid into the stool next to him.

Killian steeled himself, knowing what he had to do—his heart screaming as his lips moved. "Don't worry, I'm not here to pursue the Lady Swan."

* * *

"I don't care where you go boys, but you can't stay here. It's closing time." Granny shooed Killian, the dwarves, and a handful of other party goers out the door.

_Bloody hell, what do I do now?_

He couldn't go back to his ship—one step in his cabin and he'd be assaulted by memories of their night together.

The bearded dwarf—Grumpy, was it?—clapped him on the back. "The Rabbit Hole doesn't close until two."

Killian nodded at him. "By all means, mate, lead the way."

He hoped this "rabbit hole" was a tavern of sorts and served rum.

_Perhaps if I'm drunk enough I shall forget the way she wrapped her body—_

_Bloody hell!_

He followed the dwarves down the street, careful to keep his jovial façade in place, welcoming the cold air as it permeated his body.

It matched the chill in his heart, the image of her smiling at Neal all too clear in his mind. Killian cursed his inability to fight for her thanks to his conscience.

_You did the right thing._

_You're in it for the long haul. What are three hours, three days, three months, three years—however long it takes Swan to realize you will not leave her like all the others have—compared to the three hundred years spent seeking revenge?_

_She's worth three thousand._

But it hurt no less, this helplessness, the waiting, the small chance his gamble would fail and he'd be left in pieces, only living for her happiness. It would bring him joy_—_her smile able to light even the darkest part of him—but it would also slowly break him.

_Better than revenge, mate._

_Is it?_

The warmth of the tavern rolled over him as they entered, Killian very thankful his guess as to the nature of The Rabbit Hole was accurate.

Playing the patient suitor would require a lot more rum than he currently possessed.

Tomorrow, he would torture himself all over again when she met Bae for lunch at Granny's and without alcohol, he might do something very, very stupid.

* * *

_What was he doing here?_

Killian stared at the number three on the door in front of him, his hand raised to knock, a dose of reality hitting him before he engaged in the very stupid action he'd hoped to avoid.

_Damn dwarves, suggesting I come here._

Perhaps the entire night had been a plot devised by them to bring about his demise—because if the prince did not kill him for knocking on his door before dawn, surely Emma or her mother would.

Thank goodness part of his faculties returned in time.

He turned around and sagged against the door, sliding to the ground, unsure of where to go. The Jolly Roger awaited him, true, but he needed time away from her and the reminders she held.

_How exactly did sitting outside Swan's door seem the better course of action?_

_Because the last time I visited Swan's, the prince punched me._

_And twenty-four hours ago my tongue mapped every part of Swan's body. And her lips_—

One of those memories was infinitely more painful to dwell on at the moment, and it was not the one involving harm to his person.

_Bloody hell._

He closed his eyes and leaned his back against the door, certain a brilliant idea would arrive at any moment.

* * *

Killian fell backwards, his quick reflexes barely saving his head from hitting the unforgiving wooden floor. "Bloody hell!"

"Hook? What the heck are you doing here?" The prince stood over him, a perplexed expression painted on his face as Killian fought to clear the cobwebs of sleep from his mind.

It took Killian a moment to remember where he was.

_Dwarves. Drinking rum. Lots of rum. Swan's door._

_Bloody hell._

He attempted to stand. "Perhaps after all that time spent together aboard the Jolly Roger, I just cannot start my day without a gazing upon your princely visage." He fought to get the words out, realizing he had achieved something he'd not done in a very, very long time: a hangover.

_Bloody dwarves._

_It's not their fault. You're the one trying to forget her._

David rolled his eyes and grabbed Killian's arm, helping him to his feet. "I'm certain that's it." His eyes scanned Killian. "You look like hell."

Killian ran his fingers through his hair. "You certainly know how to woo a person, mate."

David leaned in. "You don't smell so good, either. You might want to take a shower."

"Why, Dave, are you trying to get me out of my clothing? What would your lovely wife say?"

_I need to leave before Emma sees me._

_I need to stay. I need to see her._

_Bloody hell!_

"I don't think it's Snow's opinion you care about, is it?" Concern flickered in David's eyes and Killian sensed his mask slipping.

_Leave, before you reveal something better left buried._

"I'd best be on my way, so I may cease to offend your delicate royal senses." He winked at David and turned away.

"Hook?"

Killian paused in the hallway, but didn't turn around. "Aye?"

"If it's meant to be, you'll find each other. No matter what. You just need to have a little faith."

Killian resumed walking, the prince's words ringing in his head.

* * *

Emma's super power clanged in her mind, over and over, its echo refusing to go away.

Something was off with Henry.

And no one believed her. They waived off her concerns, refusing to believe her gut feeling.

But Emma knew. She _knew_.

She glanced at her phone for the hundredth time, waiting for the call from either Henry or Regina as her fingers grew numb in the cold.

She eyed the nearby docks, instinctively searching for the familiar silhouette of Hook before she stopped herself

_I came here to be alone.._

_Liar. You came here precisely because you might see Hook._

She sighed, checking her phone again.

She didn't want to think about why she sought out the pirate instead of Neal—who was Henry's father and should know of her concerns.

_Because Neal never believed in your super power._

_I'm not thinking about this now._

_And Hook does._

_Shut up._

_Hook believes in you, even when you don't believe in yourself._

_Now is not the time for this._

_Neal never understood you._

_I have other things to deal with right now. Like my son._

_It's pretty obvious who you trust._

_I'm the Savior. I don't have time to trust anyone._

_Says the woman who let Captain Hook taste every part of her body two nights ago._

"Dammit, shut up!" Her voice echoed over the water and she looked at the docks again, simultaneously hoping and dreading her words reached Hook.

_You miss him._

"I don't."

Great, now she was talking to herself.

And lying while doing so.

Because she did miss him, far more than she'd expected.

She missed his smile.

The way her body caught fire from a simple glance.

And his touch.

Her dreams last night reminded her how she craved his skin against hers.

And she hated him for it.

Because she was the Savior—she didn't have the time or the luxury to be weakened by a relationship.

Her life was being the Savior.

_So why am I still on this beach?_

She heard the sound of footsteps and her heart beat faster, suddenly afraid to look and see if it was Hook.

"I thought Granny's was that way?"

_It wasn't him._

Emma sighed and turned to look at David, happy to see him but dreading the likely reason for his arrival. "Did Neal send you?" She buried the twinge of disappointment — why hadn't Hook sought her out?—and refused to consider all that it meant.

* * *

Killian had to know.

Would she forgive Baelfire?

Or did he still have a shot?

He cursed under his breath, pausing his pacing outside the back entrance to the diner. He pulled the flask from his pocket—thankfully the tavern had finally opened and he'd convinced the bartender to allow him to refill his bottle. As the liquid slid down his throat he had the same conversation with himself he'd had all morning.

_To what purpose are you here?_

_You gave Bae your word you would back off._

_You cannot fight for her no matter how you wish it._

_But perhaps if she sees me, she'll remember Neverland. Our night together. _

_You mean when she clearly stated she wanted to use your body to erase her nightmares, but it meant nothing deeper and you agreed to her terms?_

_Aye. That._

_And you couldn't handle it._

_I handled her quite well, actually._

_But it backfired, didn't it?_

_Her walls are a force to be reckoned with. Tall. Thick. Seemingly impenetrable. But there are cracks one can sneak through if willing to look for them._

_And if Bae uses those same cracks, only is allowed to stay because she loves him?_

_Then I need to know that is the case._

Killian entered the back hallway, eyeing the rum bottle as the internal conversation continued, knowing his refill would not last long at this rate.

_Why? What chance do you, a pirate, have against her first love?_

_I have never abandoned her or broken her heart._

_You're a fool._

_Perhaps. But she would not push me away if she had nothing to fear from my presence._

_Or she no longer has use for you now that she's back in Storybrooke._

_She'd not be so callous, not after a lifetime of others using her._

_You're so certain she cares for you?_

_I'd bet my life on it._

_And if she cares for Bae more?_

_Then I hope both are happy together._

_Liar._

He stumbled into someone, and it took a moment before he realized it was Tink.

Her eyes travelled over him. "Are you ok?"

_No. _"Fine, love." Tink gave a quick nod, taking his words at face value and turned away.

An idea formed.

He hurried around her, placing his hook on her shoulder to stop her. "The question is…. are you?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He plastered a smile on his face. "I know Storybrooke can be a disorienting place if you aren't used to it. Perhaps a drink to settle you in?"

So he wouldn't be alone when Emma met with Bae.

Tink glared at him. "We both know you want more than a drink. You want me to help take your mind off Emma."

_As if that was possible._

Tink would never let him live down the night he tried to get her drunk—desperate to feel something after a century, give or take, of being trapped on Neverland—and lured her into his cabin only to find out even fallen fairies cannot get drunk.

No woman liked to hear she was second choice, however, and even though his intent was not to repeat the Neverland seduction—even if Tink suddenly changed her mind, he only desired Emma—he couldn't bring himself to correct her.

"Emma, who's Emma? I only see you."

_Liar_.

Tink rolled her eyes at him. "I may have lost my wings but I haven't lost my dignity. That's never gonna hap…."

The screams brought lucidity to Killian's body—somehow erasing hours of rum drinking in an instant—and fear raced through him.

_Swan._

They raced outside and he was stunned to find Emma only just arriving with her father.

_Why wasn't she with Baelfire?_

_Bloody hell, what did that mean?_

Then her stare, her words, indignant with jealousy.

_Jealousy over… Tinker Bell?_

He said he'd not pursue Emma, but he was a pirate—he would not let the rare demonstration of her feelings for him escape without comment.

"Perhaps," he smirked, hoping she failed to detect the desperation behind his actions.

At least he was no longer a ghost.

* * *

Killian stood with the group—still stunned over the Crocodile's sacrifice—and listened as the Queen explained the only way to stop Pan's curse and the steep price of doing so.

_Villains don't get happy endings, remember?_

"You will take him, because you're the Savior. You were created to break the curse. And once again, you can escape it." Regina faced Emma, the queen empty of sarcasm, pain evident on her features.

_No!_

Killian couldn't lose Emma.

Not that she was his… yet.

But she'd renewed his hope again with her outburst of jealousy over Tinker Bell.

_I cannot lose her, _he thought again_._

Regina's words circled in Killian's head as an idea formed—a desperate one—but not one without merit.

_Perhaps not everyone will have to leave her._

_Perhaps I will not…_

Emma shook her head. "I don't want to. We'll both go back with everyone."

Killian waited while the others convinced the Savior of what she had to do.

To leave them. All of them. For the sake of the boy.

He saw the agony fill her—not wanting to lose the family she'd found.

He ached to go to her, to hold her, to whisper that everything would work itself out.

_Not yet._

He watched Emma walk away—retrieving the small yellow vessel required to leave Storybrooke—knowing this would be his only chance to ask Regina.

Not wanting to raise anyone's hopes, he closed the distance between them and kept his words quiet. "Are you quite certain that only the Savior can escape this curse?"

She tossed him a sympathetic look—the lack of biting reply proof Regina was not at all herself at the moment. "It will take everyone, Hook. Including you."

"Aye, if I remain here. But what if I don't?"

She furrowed her brow at him. "What do you mean?"

"Will the curse be contained by the borders of this town, or will it travel the world and grab anyone not from this land?"

Understanding lit her eyes. "You think you can cross the town line and escape it?"

"Escaping curses is something I do, darling. If the curse stays within the town, then those of us who aren't bound by your curse should be able to leave. Yes?"

_And Emma would not be alone._

"I don't know, Hook. If the curse allows you to leave while Pan's curse is in motion, it could work in theory, but—"

"Sorry to interrupt, Regina, but it's time. Can you transport us to the town line?" Snow White tossed a curious glance his way.

"Very well." Regina waved her hands—he always hated this part, wondering if he would materialize within a tree or other solid object—and moments later found himself and the others on a road surrounded by woods, the Storybrooke sign and painted red line marking the boundary of the town. The others began to say goodbye to Henry as Emma drove toward them and Regina leaned toward Killian. "There's a huge flaw with your plan, so I wouldn't try it."

"What plan? What's going on?" Snow White's words were loud, catching the attention of the prince and Neal.

Neal looked between them. "There's a plan?"

Killian swallowed, wishing he'd had the chance to discuss this with Bae alone, without Emma's parents listening, but lacked the time to do so. "I was merely trying to discern if it's possible for those of us not trapped by the original curse to leave the town and avoid returning to the Enchanted Forest."

David gave him a surprised look. "You might keep your memories because you escaped the first curse and since it is magic, this one can't cross the town line."

"Precisely, mate." Killian turned his focus to Neal. "You could stay with your family. Your son."

_Emma._

_But she wouldn't be alone._

The group's stunned faces swiveled to look at Regina.

"Would that work?" Neal asked.

Regina rubbed her temples as if a headache pounded between them. "I was just telling Hook. It might work _in theory_. The curse might not allow anyone other than the Savior and Henry to leave but even if you can, there's a bigger problem."

The door of the yellow vessel slammed and Emma got out.

"What problem would that be?" Killian scratched the back of his neck. Nothing was ever simple with magic.

It always had a price.

"When the curse washes over us it will send us all back. Nothing will be left behind. Including your memories. It's just what the curse does." Regina turned to Emma, sympathy in her eyes. "Storybrooke will no longer exist. It won't _ever_ have existed. So these last years will be gone from both your memories. And we go back to just being stories again."

_Think, bloody think, man._

"What will happen to us?" Emma's expression nearly killed him.

_She'll be an orphan all over again, with no one but the boy to love her._

_Lost to her parents, her friends._

_Lost to me._

_Think._

Regina shook her head. "I don't know."

"That doesn't sound much like a happy ending." Tears were in her eyes now.

_Think! _He shuffled his feet, wanting to pace but not wishing to draw attention to himself.

"It's not. But I can give you one."

Killian froze.

_What could Regina have possibly meant by that?_

"You can preserve our memories?" The hope in Emma's eyes was unmistakable.

_She wants to remember them. Needs to remember them._

"No, I can do what I did to everyone else in this town. I can give you new ones." Regina clasped Emma's hands. "You'll have never given him up. You'll have always been together."

"You would do that?" He watched Emma grab onto the silver lining, trying to a mask her grief. "But it won't be real."

"Your past won't, but your future will."

Neal shuffled forward. "Could you give me memories as well? Perhaps—" he closed the space towards Emma and Killian clenched his fist, fighting the urge to stop him, "—we were always together. A family."

_Bloody hell!_

_That's not what she wants! She wants what is real._

_Neal left her._

_He hurt her once. He would likely do so again._

_You don't have a say in this. You can only offer to join them._

Emma stiffened and stepped back. "Neal… I.." She glanced at Henry. "You're Henry's father, you always will be, but I don't want a romantic relationship built on magical fake memories. I'm sorry."

Killian watched Neal deflate at Emma's rejection, trying not to rejoice in her adamant refusal while simultaneously sympathizing with Bae. Neal turned to Regina. "Will I remember any of this? My father's," he paused, swallowing before continuing, "sacrifice?"

Regina shook her head. "Nothing from Storybrooke will remain."

_Only Storybrooke will go missing…._

Killian cleared his throat, all eyes swiveling to him. "If the curse wipes only the memories of Storybrooke, does it stand to reason that events occurring outside of this town shall remain intact?"

Regina shrugged. "It's possible, but since you aren't from this world, it is equally likely you forget your entire life. Gold might know the answer but he's—" she broke off, actually tossing Neal an apologetic look. "If the curse allows anyone other than Emma and Henry to cross the line, I could give them new memories as well."

His gaze found Emma's, hope joining the agony swirling within the green depths.

Neal broke the moment, stepping between them, blocking his view of Emma, and wrapping an arm around Henry. He swallowed. "If I come with you but you have no idea Rumplestiltskin is my father and you believe you kept Henry, would you even allow me into your life?"

"I don't know." Killian couldn't see Emma, only Neal, but he heard the apology and the guilt in what she wouldn't say in front of the boy.

_No. Neal would not be welcomed._

Neal nodded. "Maybe it's best if I go back with the others, then. I don't want to ruin the life you could have here."

"Neal, I—"

"Hey, this isn't goodbye. We'll see each other again." Neal pulled her into a hug and as her head peeked over his shoulder, her eyes found Killian's again.

Pain. So much pain.

She only allowed him seconds to view it, before closing her eyes and shutting him out, breaking away from Neal .

Killian watched the prince embrace Emma and Henry. Her mother kissed Emma's forehead and he saw the tears forming in her eyes.

_No._

He would not let everyone leave her again.

She turned to her vessel, not even bothering to approach him to say good-bye.

_Do I mean that little?_

_Or do I mean too much?_

It didn't matter.

He would not leave her, not if there was a chance he could thwart this curse.

He strode toward her, blocking her path and she stopped, her eyes reluctantly coming up to meet his yet again.

"That's quite the vessel you captain there, Swan." He forced a small smile, hoping she would return it or perhaps roll her eyes.

Anything but shut him out.

Her eyes glistened; a tear escaping as she silently pleaded with him to help her hold herself together, a single sigh hinting how the slightest move might cause her to break.

The urge to cradle her close, fit her body to his, taste her lips and confess the depth of his feelings—in what might be his last chance—threatened to overwhelm him and he fought to contain it. She would not want such a public display now, particularly with her parents and son present.

The thunder of the curse broke through his thoughts and he knew little time remained.

_Ask her._

_And if she says no?_

_At least she'll know not every person was willing to abandon her._

He licked his lips, leaning closer, unable to hide his anxiety over what he was about to offer. "Perhaps you'd allow me to join your crew." He swallowed, the lump in his throat heavy as he waited for her answer.

Her stunned gaze traveled over his face, but he saw the vulnerability and the fear mingling with her shock. "You would do that?"

_Do I let her see the depths of what I'm feeling?_

_Do I keep it hidden so I do not scare her away?_

He settled on a compromise, allowing his eyes to reveal how very much he wished to remain by her side. "Aye."

"With happy memories of another life? Or a fake one of us?"

Hurt crept onto his face. He refused to hide it—not now, not with so little time to convince her. "Neither. What is life without a bit of risk now and again? I'll take my chances that only the memories of this town will be stolen."

"And if you forget your entire life?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Then I won't know any better, now will I?"

"What if you remember?"

He heard what she didn't ask.

_What if you remember Neverland? If you remember the night we spent together?_

His tongue traced his lips again and he leaned closer, until only inches separated them, his voice only loud enough for her to hear. "Then I shall have to save you."

"I won't know you." He saw another tear roll down her face and had to soothe her. He allowed himself to brush it away from her cheek with his thumb, her damp skin warmer than his cold fingers, and she shifted her weight, leaning into the caress.

_Show her._

He tried to pour his heart into his gaze, exposing everything he felt, everything he dreamed, and how desperately he needed her in his life. "I will have to make you remember me, love."

The surprise faded away and a smile, small but no less powerful, formed on her lips. "Good."

Relief filled Killian and he fought to hold his body still when it wished to shake from the power of it. He reached for her hand and after a slight hesitation she laced her fingers with his. "Perhaps we should be on our way then." He nodded at the green cloud, ominous and crackling, wishing to be as far from it as possible, fear of it somehow reaching out and separating him from Emma far too real.

"Captain, if you could come here a moment." It was an order—Regina's tone made that clear—and Killian approached her, Emma by his side, her grip tight on his fingers.

_She's afraid I'll leave her._

He traced her wrist with his thumb, trying to comfort her without making it obvious to the others.

"What is it, your majesty?" He forced any concern from his tone, hiding the anxiety that flared, wondering what else the queen might not have told them.

Regina gave a pointed looked at his hand linked with Emma's. "You do realize Emma's new memories won't include you and she will only remember the Captain Hook from the fairytales of this land?"

Emma's grip tightened on his hand and he nodded at Regina. "I do. You were quite clear on that."

"And you think she's going to let a leather-clad stranger with a hook just hang out with her and our son?"

Emma stepped forward. "Regina, I—"

Regina cut off Emma with a wave of her hand. "Because she won't. Not unless I intervene."

The queen had a point, not that Killian would let such a thing deter him. "I do not wish to have my memories magically altered."

Regina rolled her eyes, though the motion failed to hide a glimmer of respect. "Normally I'd be more than happy to let you stumble and fall flat on your face, but this is about my son." She looked at Emma. "Our son. I want him safe."

Emma tossed her an indignant look. "I can keep Henry safe, Regina. It's a lot easier in the real world without demonic teenagers casting curses."

Regina sighed and shook her head. "Do you think it's a coincidence that you found Neal—someone from the same land you were born—in a world of billions of people? There are likely others who exist and your magic could attract them to you—and our son—like a beacon. And if anyone from the Evil Queen's past should want to seek revenge on the thing I love most..."

Emma stiffened and Killian squeezed her hand in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "What are you proposing?" Wariness dripped into his words, unsure what Regina had in mind.

"Nothing drastic, I assure you. Since Emma will remember absolutely nothing about us, I feel having someone close to Henry who knows of magic's existence could prove to be vital in case someone less amiable than myself should find the Savior. I am merely offering a reason for Emma to allow you to stay close enough to help, if need be."

He turned to Emma, asking the question with his eyes: Would she accept Regina forcing him into her life?

"What did you have in mind, Regina?" Emma asked, more curious than wary at this point.

"He'll be your roommate, ready to start a new life in a new country while you do the same in a new city. That way if something happens, he is close enough to help protect Henry."

_A roommate?_

_Did that mean sharing the same room—the same bed?—or the same domicile?_

"You want him to live with us?" She tried to pull her hand from his, but he refused to allow her to pull away, holding her firm. Her gaze flickered to his, a flash of fear on her face, before her eyes darted away, her fingers no longer fighting to escape his. "Why not in an apartment next door or something?"

Regina laughed with disbelief. "Perhaps you've watched one too many sitcoms, but people in a large city rarely interact with their neighbors. And even if they did, it could take months of the pirate stalking you before you became comfortable enough around him, assuming you didn't arrest him first." Regina shook her head. "He needs to live with you both, because that is the only way to ensure Henry is protected."

The fear remained in Emma's eyes, though she swallowed and nodded in agreement. "That makes sense. Hook?"

_Only the same place of residence then, or the prince would have interjected by now._

He searched her eyes, trying to find the source of her fear. "I'll not agree to this if it bothers you, Swan." He squeezed her hand, still marveling at how she continued to allow the physical connection.

She licked her lips, her eyes returning the stare. "You don't think it might be a bit, um, awkward?"

Was she worried about… him?

_I shall see her every day. At her most vulnerable._

_I'll have to pretend our lips never touched. That I never swallowed her cries with my mouth, or tasted every inch of her body._

_Bloody hell._

_No wonder she does not wish for me to be this "roommate". _

He gave his most confident smile, afraid if she witnessed his concerns she would change her mind and inform him his presence was no longer required. "I am always in favor of a solution that does not end with my death or incarceration."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "I'm armed. Try any funny business and nothing Regina does will keep you safe."

He heard what she could not say.

_I'm trusting you, pirate._

"I'm always a gentleman, love." He traced his thumb along the inside of her palm, following the faint scar he'd bandaged for her, feeling her shiver in response. "Trust that I have no wish to jeopardize your son's safety or your own, only work to find a way to help you remember what you lost."

He watched the emotion war within her, wondering if he'd erred in his efforts to convince her. The fear still remained in her eyes, but it battled with so many other things, he had difficulty deciphering them.

Until he recognized one he knew could overpower the rest: hope.

God knows he'd learned how the dangerous, seductive, and strong the belief in hope could overrule fear and practicality.

He knew the moment it won as the tension left her body and she gave a quick nod to Regina.

Regina waved her hand and turned to Emma. "It's done. Time to leave and take care of our son." Tears graced the queen's eyes and he turned away, knowing she wouldn't want him to view her weakness and owing her the courtesy for her help.

Henry joined Regina one last time and Killian looked anywhere but at them, trying to allow their last moment privacy.

The prince found his gaze, filling it with both a wish and a warning. _Protect her. Protect them both. But hurt her and you're dead, pirate._

Killian tossed him a small nod, and David answered with one of his own.

_We have an understanding, mate._

Killian's eyes sought out Bae—Neal—next, his heart twisting at the sadness covering the boy he'd loved as his own.

Bae lost his mother, his father, and now his son.

The woman he loves.

_Always the pirate, stealing what doesn't belong to me._

_A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets._

_Rumplestiltskin drove Milah away. I did not force her._

_I failed to kill the crocodile._

_I did give up on Baelfire too easily, hurt and worried about what Pan might do to my crew because Bae would no longer hide his presence._

_My attraction to Swan began long before I knew Bae fathered her boy._

_I fell for her when I believed him dead._

_I did all I could to ensure they had a chance together._

_Neal chose not to stay_.

_I cannot leave her for Bae's sake, to spare him grief._

_It might destroy her._

_And she is everything._

_So why do I feel no less the pirate for my actions?_

The green cloud was uncomfortably close and Killian rocked on his heels, anxious to flee its reach.

He gripped Emma's hand tight, signaling to her his wish to leave and she returned the squeeze, before slipping her hand from his grasp.

"Come on, kid. We have to go."

Emma walked to her vessel with the boy and Killian followed, using the walk to trade his hook for his fake hand, burying any thoughts of failure.

_If I cannot leave._

_If I do not remember._

_If I fail to win her over in her new life._

_Later._

They climbed into the car, Killian in the front, Henry in the back, and he wondered if his memories would fade gradually, or if pieces of his life would simply vanish. Would he feel the gaps, or would magic glaze them over, the missing time an unnoticed blip in his long life?

Would he recall why he could not reach for her hand? Why he'd have to restrain from touching her? From kissing her?

Or would he assume she knew and push her too soon, undoing Regina's magic and finding himself alone and unable to get close to her again?

The vessel rumbled, roaring to life. Emma quickly moved a lever and they lurched forward.

Killian turned once, glancing behind him at her family—those she wished to remember—and vowed to find a way to reunite them again, hoping he'd recall it once Storybrooke disappeared. The town line remained behind them, so in theory he should.

In theory.

_At least the curse allowed me to leave._

The green smoke turned purple as Regina's magic met Pan's and Killian used this last moment to reach for Emma, his hand crossing his body, needing to touch her before her memories were ripped away and replaced.

Not caring about Henry in the back—he wouldn't remember this either—he twisted, resting his hand on her leg, rubbing it gently with his thumb.

Her eyes flicked to his and he dropped his mask. Every shield and protective measure Killian utilized to prevent Emma from discovering just how far he'd fallen for her was tossed aside.

All of it gone.

"No matter what happens, Swan, my heart belongs to you."

The vessel swerved as she gasped in surprise, casting a frantic glance at Henry in the rearview mirror. "Hook, what are—"

"I love you."

* * *

A moment.

It was all Emma had.

A single moment of her heart picking up speed.

Of warmth filling her body.

Of meeting his eyes and gasping at the emotion bared for her to see.

_I believe him._

Of panic, though whether it stemmed from her fear of trusting Hook or of never remembering she had, she couldn't tell.

Not in a moment.

A blink.

Four racing heart beats.

Then the moment ended—stealing all that came before it—erasing the memories of Storybrooke, her parents, her life, and of the one person who refused to leave her side: Captain Hook.

* * *

_**As always, love to my beta, Arandil.**_

_**ETA: Several reviewers seem to think "four racing heart beats" was a hint referring to Emma being pregnant, but even if she is, it's been three or four days at most since their night in Neverland together and a zygote would likely not even be implanted yet, much less have a heart beat. The "four racing heart beats" is the physical representation of how long that moment was for Emma, as in HER racing heart beat four times and that was all the time she had to process Hook's words before she lost her memories. Hopefully that clears things up. ;-)**_

_**Anyone else curious as to how this will play out?**_

_**Review?**_


	2. Chapter 1: Cursed

**_CHAPTER 1: Cursed_**

_How the bloody hell did I get here?_

Killian glanced around the small confines of the moving contraption, noting Swan at the wheel and her boy in the back, unable to remember boarding this vessel.

His body and mind lacked the telltale signs of too much rum and he rarely imbibed enough to black out—not in years—plus he'd barely touched the stuff after Pan's rather snide comment in Neverland.

Only…where had he traveled after Neverland?

_I have no bloody idea._

Killian filtered through his memories, surprised to find whatever had caused him to forget joining Swan in her carriage, had also ripped other pieces of his past from him.

He remembered most of his life: three hundred years—give or take a few decades and minus some overindulgences in rum—all perfectly intact. Seemingly untouched. Liam, Milah, the Crocodile, Baelfire, the many years spent in Neverland, meeting the woman next to him, feeling drawn to her, her betrayal, and finally allowing her to leave him to return to her son.

Then things grew fuzzy. He could not recall where she traveled, only that he'd needed to follow to track the Crocodile. He and Cora had restored the bean and then…

Holes. Gaps of nothingness...

_Where had Cora gone?_

….until he sailed the seas of another land to enact his revenge, his destination the largest city he'd witnessed in all the realms: Manhattan.

He avenged Milah, _finally_, after three hundred years, only to have Swan knock him unconscious and leave him behind. Again.

Then darkness as he rode in another mode of transport.

And nothing where something should have existed.

Suddenly he stood on the _Jolly Roger _clutching a magic bean in his hand, remembering Bae, mourning the loss of what might have been if he'd not reacted so rash with pain at the words of a boy.

_By stealing the bean I condemned them all to death._

_No!_

He turned his ship back to…somewhere—the name remained elusive—but Swan had been there.

_More darkness filled with questions._

He steered through a portal, landing in Neverland—the place he'd sworn never to revisit—with the prince and Snow White, the Evil Queen, and the Crocodile, who still lived despite Killian's vivid memories of stabbing him in the chest with his poisoned hook.

_None of it made sense_.

And Emma.

She drew him to her, a moth to flame, and when she'd nearly drowned….

_Bloody hell._

He wanted her—had since their journey up the beanstalk—denying it was more than that.

But nearly losing her in Neverland…

When she'd answered his challenge, his dare—the passionate kiss somehow more than a kiss—he suddenly saw a future. With her.

Only Bae—who had grown up and—_bloody hell_—fathered the boy sitting behind him—still lived and Killian had chosen to help rescue him, knowing what uttering his secret might cost him.

_Her_.

They'd rescued her son and left Neverland.

Their night together aboard the Jolly Roger lingered as one of his final memories, the taste of her still burned into his memory, the burgeoning hope the night meant as much to her as it had to him. Come dawn, he'd been at the wheel of the _Jolly Roger_, wondering if she would welcome or ignore him when she awoke.

_She wouldn't even look at him._

One moment he'd been schooling his face, hiding his pain at her rejection, and then…

_What the bloody hell?_

_..._the next instant found himself sitting next to her—somehow knowing she would soon forget him—swearing to make her remember, telling her he loved her.

Had it been minutes ago? Or hours? Even days?

He attempted to recall her reaction to his words and found...nothing.

Telling her screamed of stupidity—something he normally tried to avoid—and desperation—an emotion he sadly knew quite well.

Only, there had been a chance...a chance he'd forget his whole life and he needed her to know someone loved her.

Yet he _had _remembered.

_Had she forgotten? Truly? Or are my memories no longer my own?_

_Was any of this real?_

He parted his lips, prepared to question Swan about it, but a whisper spoke inside his head. A warning.

_She and Henry remember a different life and know nothing of magic or realms outside of this world. They just met you minutes ago and will allow you into their life if you don't screw it up, pirate. Relax and you'll know what to say._

The voice sounded oddly like the Evil Queen.

_What the hell_—

Then he remembered...

_Relief at escaping another curse._

So, neither rum nor simple magic bore responsibility for his stolen memories.

Why did it always have to be a bloody curse?

_Vowing to restore memories of her family._

_Where the hell were her parents anyway?_

_And if the whispered warning was correct, why had Emma's memories been replaced along with her boy's, but his remained mostly intact?_

He sighed, closing his mouth and staring at the scenery passing unbelievably fast outside the window, fighting to get his bearings.

He was still in The Land Without Magic, based on the vessel he rode in, much like the ones spied when he'd found the Crocodile in New York.

_But where was the Jolly Roger? Still at port somewhere in this land? Or had the curse stolen her as well?_

He scratched his ear, desperately trying to decipher the secrets the stolen memories contained.

_What if my memories are not real either?_

_What if none of it happened?_

_Bloody hell._

Who had stolen the missing pieces of his life? Was it the curse? A spell of the Queen's? Had Cora or the Crocodile had a hand it in as well?

And to what purpose?

_How the hell did I plan on helping Emma remember when I don't even know what happened?_

* * *

Emma eyed the man next to her—unease gnawing at her gut—wondering why she'd listened to Terri.

It had begun innocently enough.

"_I found the perfect three bedroom apartment." It had everything Emma had ever wanted in a home, "but I can't afford it."_

Terri's answering smile should've been a warning, though at the time it appeared sympathetic.

"_That's wonderful, because I happen to know someone in a similar predicament. Ever thought about having a roommate?"_

_The lure of having her dream apartment goaded Emma into considering the previously unthinkable: allowing another person into the happy bubble where she and Henry lived. She'd fought to be independent—to make it on her own. Except for the first two years of Henry's life when they'd needed to live with Terri, she'd managed to do a damn good job of it._

_The idea simmered, her friend not-so-subtly touting the benefits of such._

_Emma's arguments weakened—it was within walking distance to Henry's new private school, the kitchen was huge, the building secure, the neighborhood amazing—until the call came that if she didn't sign the lease, someone else would._

_Emma signed the lease._

_She should've known it was too good to be true._

The sound of crinkling leather caught her attention—the man shifted in his seat, repositioning his legs—and Emma couldn't help but notice how the smooth material clung to the well-developed muscles beneath.

_Dammit._

Her friend had lost her mind and somehow forced Emma to lose hers as well.

Terri had waited until after Emma signed the lease to drop the bombshell: her supposedly ideal roommate was a guy.

"_Are you insane?"_

"_Do you trust me, Emma?"_

"_You know I do." Terri was her boss, her friend, and the woman had saved her when Emma had been an unmarried teen delinquent mother. She was the only person Emma trusted._

"_Have I ever steered you wrong before?"_

"_No, but what do you even know about this guy?"_

"_He's a good friend without a family who lost every person he's ever loved. Now he's lost his home too."_

_Something Emma related to far too well._

_Her friend knew just what to say, somehow forging a bond between Emma and a man she'd never met._

_But allowing him into her life, into her home? No way. She couldn't. She wouldn't._

Never say never.

"_Why him?"_

"_Because I think you will be good for each other. Plus, he's great with kids. I know how you hate leaving Henry alone, just as much as he hates being "baby-sat". A roommate isn't a sitter, just someone who happens to be home while you're on stakeout…"_

_Shit._

_Her job was chaotic, and skips didn't just happen during school hours. It would take a while to make friends and find a trustworthy sitter as Henry learned the city._

"_For an insane woman, you make too much sense." Emma sighed. "Do you trust him?"_

_Terri grinned. "I'd trust him with my life. And Henry's. And yours."_

_Emma gulped her wine, requiring fortification for what she was about to do. "Fine."_

She desperately wanted a drink right now, but with a seven hour drive ahead…

_Emma sighed, unable to fight the one person who had stood by her and helped her when she'd needed it the most,_ _and wrapped her arms around her friend. Terri would never put them in harm's way, but Emma couldn't help but add, "If he does anything untoward or puts Henry at risk—"_

"_He won't."_

"—_he's gone."_

Emma glanced at her new roommate again, glad he seemed intent on staring out the window.

He matched Terri's description perfectly except…

Her friend failed to mention how her new roommate oozed sex appeal by simply breathing. Maybe it was the head-to-toe form-fitting black leather showing off the well-sculpted body or the hint of danger surrounding him, but something about him called to her, his pull magnetic.

And she was supposed to live with him?

_He probably believes he is God's gift to women._

_What if he thinks he can bring women back to the apartment?_

_With Henry there? Over my dead body._

_What if he's an asshole?_

_What if he isn't?_

_What if he tries to hit on me?_

_What if he doesn't?_

_God, he's already driving me crazy and he's barely said two words._

They needed ground rules, but she couldn't discuss half of them with her son in the backseat, so she allowed the silence to remain.

It didn't last long, Henry's curiosity finally winning.

"What was your name again?"

"Killian Jones."

"Why are you dressed like that?"

"Why are you dressed like _that_?" he echoed, annoyance lacing his tone.

"Henry, be nice. It's probably all he has left." She shot Killian an apologetic look.

"Aye. Everything I owned was on my ship when I… lost her."

_His home was a ship?_

Killian's eyes found hers but she broke away and focused on the road, unprepared for the pain she witnessed.

_Dammit_.

She'd met the man less than thirty minutes ago and already sensed a kinship with him.

That didn't happen, not to her. Caution ruled her life when it came to the opposite sex—Neal's betrayal a harsh lesson. She didn't let many people in, but when she did, it took time. Months. Years. No man wanted to wait that long.

But there was something familiar about Killian, begging her to trust him.

_Why did I agree to this again?_

"Is that when you lost your hand?" Henry asked.

Emma's eyes traveled to his fake hand—the prosthetic covered in black leather, a glove—propped upon his left leg.

_Had Terri mentioned a missing hand?_

_Does it surprise you?_

_No._

_Then she must have._

"Henry! That is none of our—"

"I don't mind, Swan." He twisted in the seat, directing his answer at Henry. "I lost my hand quite some time ago."

"How?"

"I had a…. disagreement with a crocodile."

Emma's eyes whipped to his, unable to stay out of the conversation. "A crocodile?"

"Aye." The blue eyes dared her to argue with him.

"You sure you aren't making this up?" Skepticism coated Henry's words.

_That's my boy._

"Quite certain, it being my hand and all." Killian's patience wore thin; Emma heard it in his voice.

No one likes to be called a liar and though she hated to admit it, she heard truth in his words, as preposterous as they seemed.

Doubt continued to lace Henry's words. "It's just, your story sounds an awful lot like a rip-off of Captain Hook."

The shock on Killian's face brought giggle to Emma's throat. Henry was right: a ship, a lost hand to a crocodile. His clothing definitely had a modern-age pirate feel.

_Give him a hat with a feather…_

_Or Disney needs to do a remake with a sexy Captain Hook._

"Something funny, Swan?"

_It was the second time he'd called her that yet somehow it felt.. familiar._

_Or he's annoyed with you. _

A neutral expression covered his face now, a mask hiding his true emotions.

_So we have that in common as well._

She couldn't tell if Killian was angry at her laugh or equally amused by it.

Wanting him—no needing him—to know her laugh was not at his expense, she turned her head and gave him a wide grin, something usually reserved for those closest to her. "I'm just trying to imagine you with permed hair and a waxed moustache."

A smile twitched on his lips and she turned back to the road, grateful he understood.

"I take it perms are bad?"

She laughed even as something nagged in the corner of her mind, though it was gone before she could dwell on it. "Unless you still want to live in the 80's, yeah, perms are bad."

She caught a flicker of his confusion out of the corner of her eye before he wiped it away.

_He really is out of his element._

A protective feeling washed over her.

Henry's questioning continued, moving on to more innocuous topics of interest, like food and video games—but each one brought forth more gaping holes in Killian's knowledge, though now he appeared more intrigued by Henry's questions and explanations than upset.

Emma found her eyes constantly veering from the road and onto Killian as he talked. She kept an ear on the conversation, making sure Henry didn't offend him while carefully filing away the tidbits of information gleaned, and noted Henry's declaration that dinner would be New York pizza, because somehow Killian had never tried pizza of any kind.

_It's perfectly normal to keep studying a guy you've just met when trapped in a car with him._

_Especially when he could easily play a starring role in a sex fantasy._

_Not that he will—roommates are off limits. I made that mistake once before._

_But he's certainly easy on the eyes. There is no harm in looking…_

Then she caught him staring at her, once, twice, three times—his blue eyes unreadable—before returning his gaze to the road or her son, hating how each time he stirred a long dormant piece of her to life before she regained control and silenced it.

The unease, formerly put to rest by the banter between her son and Killian, washed over her again and her gut clenched with warning.

Because for the first time since Terri—the first man since Neal—she craved letting someone inside and it terrified her.

* * *

Whatever spell or curse responsible for stealing the missing pieces of Killian's life now wrapped around him, a constant warning, a buzz in his brain. It silenced him whenever he opened his mouth to speak something true, but impossible in her world.

It hit Killian that something he'd done—something he'd chosen to do—had resulted in him remembering what Emma could not.

Because if he'd had a choice—to remember Emma and the wasted years of revenge, or to forget her and their time together but lose the burden of his past...

He'd pick her.

_And Emma?_

She'd choose whatever option was best for her son.

The buzzing quieted with his thoughts, proving to Killian he'd guessed correctly.

Now he faced the consequences of his decision.

Emma needed the truth to trust him. But if he told her the truth, she would never believe him, and he'd lose her.

_Assuming this bloody spell even allowed him to speak of magic and curses._

If he lied and she believed him… The day her memories returned and illuminated his lies, he'd lose her.

_Bloody hell._

He was damned either way.

But if he'd chosen to forget, he could have pursued her without guilt, without lies, believing his world to be true.

Absolved of all.

_We might have found a happy ending._

He took the moment, half-heartedly still answering Henry's rapid-fire questions, to wonder what that life might have been like: to have a new one, slate wiped clean.

_A life together, their pasts erased, their future unburdened by her role as Savior or his promise to reunite her with those lost. Just them and the boy._

_A beautiful life of love… based on lies._

_It wouldn't be real._

_I swore I'd win her heart without trickery._

_I need it to be real._

He let the dream go, trying to figure out the best way to win the new Emma's trust.

It would not be as a suitor for her hand. Though this Emma already smiled more than the one he knew—or thought he knew—it could backfire in too many ways. If he did win her heart in this world, he would still be unable to admit their past.

He would have to lie.

And she would not forgive him in the end, the betrayal of her heart too deep.

No, he could not—would not—be another Neal, leaving her broken and in pieces.

A friendship would be the only course, even though it remained risky, her trust a fragile thing.

The New York Killian Jones would have to be another mask, a role to play much like his Captain one. Instead of hiding his lack of knowledge of this world, he had to show it, all of it. The same voice warning him of speaking the truth also told him playing up his innocence of this world's creations was vital to remaining her roommate.

And he had to stay with her at all costs, for reasons he could not recall, his own feelings irrelevant.

_It just might bloody well kill me._

Even now, he fought the urge to reach for her, craving the heat of her skin. He closed his eyes, struggling to find the man he must portray—the man who had just met her—versus the man who already loved her.

When he opened them, her eyes met his again. He licked his lips, unable to stop the habit, helpless to look away from the curiosity swirling in her depths.

_So bloody beautiful._

"Do you even know what a video game is?" Henry's disbelief mingled with abject horror, the implication clear that Killian somehow missed something brilliant.

The boy's words nudged his new persona, allowing him to shift his eyes from Emma's to her son's. "I'm certain, should your mother allow it, you will enlighten me about these video games."

A small smile formed at the corners of her mouth. "We have a lot of shopping to do before that happens." At his inquisitive look she gave him a small shrug. "A fire destroyed everything that wasn't in this car. Including Henry's Xbox. Luckily I had really good insurance."

_A fire? That seems a rather… convenient tale._

_Yes, a fire, Captain. It explains her lack of possessions._

He cursed under his breath; the Evil Queen needed to get out of his head.

"What did you say?" Henry asked, leaning in from the back seat.

"I was merely wondering what this 'exbox' is that you speak of."

The boy jabbered on, touting the glorious wonders of something called "Diablo" and using "connect" to dance.

The more the boy spoke, the less he understood.

_Good. Use it._

Killian played up his confusion, often eliciting laughs from the boy.

But the moments Killian inhaled—like a dying man for air—contained soft, warm smiles directed his way. Smiles that Emma—the one he knew—rarely bestowed on anyone, much less the infamous Captain Hook.

_That man doesn't exist here. Can't exist here. He is a story, nothing more._

She demonstrated more warmth towards him as a stranger than she had in the aftermath of their night together.

Was it the spell forcing her walls to crumble? Had the curse and memory loss truly altered her?

Or was that morning aboard the _Jolly Roger_ the aberration, a time for her to come to terms with her feelings, and he simply could not remember her demanding nightly repeats?

_Damn. This could drive a man insane._

He buried his questions—their past had no place with the Emma sitting next to him, not yet—and focused on being the most unthreatening, polite, and video game clueless gentleman possible.

A surprisingly easy task, marred only by the constant tightening of his fist as he dug his nails into his palm in warning every time he fought the urge to touch her.

_Bloody hell._

* * *

**_As always, many thanks to my awesome beta, Arandil._**

**_Review?_**


	3. Chapter 2: Ground Rules

**Chapter 2: Ground Rules**

"We're home, kid."

Emma tossed her keys on the kitchen counter, admiring the beautiful granite and cupboards, her eyes taking in the furnishings included the lease, making sure they matched the images advertised.

Large wooden kitchen table. The red couch. The tan couch. The bedrooms would be empty—she'd have to shop tomorrow—but the main room felt just right.

Even with the giant manacles hanging on the wall—not your normal decoration, but she rather liked it.

_Nothing seems amiss._

"Wow, check out the view!" Henry's excitement brought a smile to her face as he peered out the living room windows before flinging himself onto one couch, his energy restored after a nap in the car. "Awesome!"

_This place is perfect._

She waited for warmth to surround her, the sense of being home.

Instead exhaustion threatened to take over, the result of her compulsive need to arrive in Manhattan quickly and therefore stop as little as possible.

_Normally I'm not so gung-ho. I know better than to drive when tired._

_But I had to get here._

_Thank goodness for the extreme saturation of Starbucks locations and mainlining Venti black coffees._

It wasn't until she heard footsteps behind her, the telltale sound of leather crinkling, that the anticipated heat flooded her body.

_Perhaps you shouldn't have spent the last seven hours sneaking glances at him over the rim of your coffee…_

"What do you think, Swan?"

For a moment she thought he could read her mind.

"Is it the home you've always dreamed of, love?"

She fought the urge to correct him—again—the endearment far too intimate.

_It's just how he talks, remember? He doesn't actually "love" you; that would be absurd. It's not his fault the word rolls off his tongue like warm chocolate syrup coating your skin, just begging—_

_Dammit!_

Her cheeks flamed.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

He closed the space between them. "Are you alright? You look a bit flushed."

_He isn't hitting on you, he's just being polite. Get over it._

"I'm fine." She took a deep breath before turning to face him, steeling herself and attempting to hide his effect on her. "This is exactly what I've always wanted." She smiled, careful to remain focused on his eyes and not on the large expanse of bared chest his plunging neckline revealed. "And what do you think, Jones?"

He licked his lips and looked away, scanning the apartment before bringing his eyes back to meet hers. His mouth formed a small smile and her stomach executed a little flip. "There is no place I'd rather be."

_Truth._

She caught a hint of…something… in his eyes and wondered if he meant the apartment or her.

Then the look vanished; he was back to the perfectly polite gentleman.

She scoffed inwardly, chalking it up to a ridiculous wistful fantasy born from exhaustion and far too much time spent staring at him.

"Mom, I'm starving. I promised Killian we'd get pizza. Please?"

She smiled, remembering the boys' earlier conversation, the early dinner of McDonald's—which Killian barely touched—and her stomach rumbled. "Sure, kid." She turned to Killian. "I don't suppose you like pepperoni?"

He blinked, giving her a confused look. "And what, pray tell, is pepperoni?"

She shook her head. _Who hadn't heard of pepperoni? _"It's a topping. It goes…. on top of a pizza. Hence the name. You don't have to get pepperoni, you can get whatever food you want. Mushrooms. Pineapple. Anchovies. Sausage. Bell peppers. Any of those sound good?

_Why am I babbling?_

He eyed her warily. "This is not like the MacDonald's food from earlier, is it?"

Emma laughed. "McDonald's and New York pizza aren't even in the same realm of food. Trust me."

He gave her another little bow. "Then I shall yield to your judgment and dine on whichever toppings you prefer."

_God, he was so… old fashioned? Adorable?_

_Yeah, if adorable also makes you think about slowly stripping off his leather._

_Dammit!_

She quickly buried the thought.

_Pizza. Food. Focus._

The copious amounts of caffeine consumed suddenly kicked in and Emma thought she'd jump out of her skin.

_I need to walk or I'll never sleep tonight._

_Sleep on what? We don't have beds or blankets._

"Ok guys, let's walk and get some supplies for the apartment, then I'll call and order for delivery."

"Okay." Henry bounded off the couch and joined them in the kitchen.

"Ready for your first taste of New York City, Jones?"

Killian gave her a little bow. "As you wish."

She ignored the renewed heat at his words—_so familiar_—the task much easier thanks to his obvious lie.

_Never saw a movie, huh buddy? Yet you can quote The Princess Bride?_

_I knew he was too good to be real._

_He's just like all the rest._

_Focus. Focus. Focus._

_Food. Shopping. Henry to bed. Deal with Jones._

It wouldn't be until much later, she'd realize her lie detector had never gone off and he had, in fact, been telling the truth.

* * *

_I haven't lived with the lass for a single night and I've already wronged her._

Killian replayed the events of the evening, trying to figure out where he'd erred and Emma's attitude had transformed from open and warm into closed and frigid.

Oh, she was polite—he sensed more for the boy's sake than his own—but the pervading chill resembled the moment he'd been tied to a tree and she'd turned to leave him to die at the hands of ogres.

_Bloody hell._

Everything had been fine when they'd gotten their keys from someone of importance at the building. Killian's brief panic at having identification or funds to pay for the place were soothed—oddly—by The Evil Queen.

_Relax, pirate. You both will be quite comfortable for some time. Just let your mind go blank and you'll know what to say._

And he had—the key exchange occurred without incident.

He'd detected no animosity from Emma then, only exhaustion and anxiety.

Their conversation at the apartment mostly revolved around…pizza—surely not the cause.

And for a second, he'd sworn from her heated look she remembered their night in his quarters.

_Purely wishful thinking._

They left the apartment and it all changed.

She ensured Henry walked between them and avoided his gaze, her words clipped when addressing him.

They'd gone to a shop of some sort a few blocks from where they lived.

She shoved packages of blankets into his arms with a frosty smile. "Sure you can handle it, Jones?"

As though she hoped—what?—he'd drop them? Say no?

She ordered pizza using a small, hand-held device, hesitating with her words when she looked at him, much like someone attempting to execute a nefarious plot.

A glance at her son and she shook her head, continuing their order.

Killian couldn't tell if she'd decided to poison him or take pity on him for Henry's sake.

The new Emma wasn't nearly as easy to read as the one he'd met in the Enchanted Forest.

_Damn magic._.

He narrowed down the change in her demeanor to around the time they'd left the apartment, but for the life of him, could not figure out what had triggered the change.

They reached their apartment—the realization it was his and Swan's forcing his heart to beat a little faster—and he unloaded the items, his arms aching a bit from carrying the packages. He refused to acknowledge the discomfort—if he could deal with losing a hand, he could bloody well carry Swan's things.

Then a buzzer sounded, startling him, and he watched Emma walk to a speaker, pushing a button and evidently allowing someone into the building.

A man with two boxes arrived at their door and suddenly all he could do was focus on the delicious smells wafting from the pizza Henry had gone on about.

Killian could not remember the last time he'd eaten more than a bite, the earlier fare almost making him long for the repulsive hardtack on his ship.

_Now if only Swan did not use pizza as a form of vengeance with her choice of toppings…_

The messy concoction didn't look that appetizing and he considered declining.

Then a small moan of appreciation escaped Emma's lips when she took a bite, and Killian's body reacted against his will, hardening as flashes of their night together flooded his brain.

_Oh for the love of…_

He swore he heard the Evil Queen laughing.

He bit his lip, fighting back a curse, and wondered if Emma tormented him as a form of retribution.

Then her boy sighed in happiness as he attacked his slice and Killian decided this, at least, was genuine.

He carefully picked up a slice, mimicking the movements of Swan and her son, and took a tentative taste.

The flavors exploded in his mouth and he didn't hesitate to take a much bigger bite. He closed his eyes, a groan escaping his throat as he savored the food.

He swallowed, opening his eyes and ready to eat more, only to find both Swan and her boy grinning at him. He gave them a sheepish grin in return. "Damn, that's good."

"I knew you'd love pizza, Killian," Henry said, before shoving a giant portion into his mouth.

His eyes met Emma's, actual joy flickering in her eyes—her earlier mood miraculously vanished. He licked his lips and nodded at the slice. "Bloody brilliant, Swan. Compliments to your choice of toppings, whatever they are."

It reminded him of the brief moment in Neverland, sitting at her side, sharing a coconut with her in companionable silence.

Only this time her lad was safe and the food much tastier.

_And she doesn't remember me._

He watched her tongue lick sauce from the corner of her lips and struggled to hide what such a simple action did to him.

Damn, he wanted her. Her laugh, her smile, the heat of her skin against his.

All of her.

_Remember, you're attempting to just be mates. Flirting with her when you have to hide the truth can never end well._

_Oh bloody…_

He took another slice—his first already gone—and focused on the delicious new tastes, thankful any of his sighs of appreciation or moans of happiness—like when Swan swirled her tongue around her thumb to clean it off—could be blamed on the pizza.

_Surely it will get easier—pretending. It's has yet to be a full day._

_Or you'll muck it up. You need to make her remember._

Her laugh traveled to him—something the boy said no doubt—and she caught his gaze, sharing the joy of moment with him. He responded instinctively with one of his own.

Killian imagined millions of interactions much like this, compiled over the days of living with her.

Yet somehow, holding back, trying to be her friend and nothing more.

_Aye…I'll have to find a way…before I do something…incredibly…stupid._

* * *

Emma helped Henry arrange some newly purchased blankets into a makeshift bed in his empty room, the only light coming from the faint glow of the city and the moon shining through his window.

_Need to buy a lamp… a bed… some sheets…_

"What do you think of Killian, mom?"

Emma couldn't help smiling at his conspiratorial whisper, but thanked the darkness for hiding the blush forming at his seemingly innocent question. "I think he really likes pizza. It was a great idea you had." _Watching him eat_… Killian might be a liar, but his surprise at enjoying his first taste of pizza—it had been impossible to stay angry. And witnessing how he savored every morsel with pure rapture… _God, what else would he savor like that?_ She swallowed, trying to clear the image from her head, and rolled one blanket into a pseudo-pillow. "What do you think of him?"

"It's weird. It's like he's from another planet or something but he somehow fits with us."

"I liked the good thing we had going… just the two of us. The dynamic duo." She nudged her son playfully.

He laughed. "Change can be good. I mean, we moved to New York for a fresh start right?"

"Yeah, we did." Though honestly, she had no idea _why_ moving here had been important—just that it had.

"I can't wait to show him Diablo. I bet he'll want to be a demon hunter. Or maybe the crusader!"

Emma ruffled his hair. "We have to buy a new Xbox first. And towels. And dishes. More clothes. You know, the basics?"

"Yeah yeah, I know." He gave her a hug. "It's gonna be okay, Mom."

She kissed the top of Henry's head, marveling at how much she loved him. "Get some sleep, kid. It's late and we have a lot to do before you start school next Monday." She walked away, going to close the door behind her.

"Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Go easy on him. He's just looking for a home."

She sighed and closed the door.

The last thing she could do was "go easy" on her roommate. If sharing an apartment with him was going to work, they needed ground rules.

_Before I do something really stupid._

* * *

Killian stared out the huge windows of the main room—the view surprisingly dark. The stars hid from him and even the moon appeared dull.

_You'll get used to it._

_Eventually._

"We need to talk." Emma's voice was quiet but firm as she approached behind him.

_Bloody hell._

He bit his tongue, holding back the same retort he'd spoken in Neverland, certain this Emma would be even less amused.

_Don't screw this up, pirate._

Because his own thoughts weren't enough...

He turned from the window, plastering what he hoped was an innocent smile on his face. "Aye, that we do." He motioned to the couch behind him. "Shall we sit?"

She eyed him warily, as if she'd expected resistance to her request. "Sure."

He sat down, purposefully placing himself in the middle; even if he could not touch her, he craved having her close. Her eyes flickered to the other couch for a moment, as if considering another option, before she sighed and sank next to him, her body rigid like a spring wound too tight.

For the first time that day, the atmosphere reeked of awkward tension.

_Oh, bloody…_

_That won't do._

Killian leaned into the pillows behind him, forcing himself to relax even has he fought the urge to brush a lock of her hair over her shoulder, casually draping his left arm along the back. His right reached into his pocket, pulling out his rum bottle. He popped the lid off and offered it to her. "Rum?"

To his surprise the tension immediately left her body. "Oh thank God." She practically snatched the bottle from him, tilting it back and taking a long swig, followed by another.

_How very telling._

"Rough day, lass?"

"You have no—" she paused, looking him over. "Yeah. You could say that." She tossed it back again, her gulp rather loud, before giving him a guilty look. "I might have had a bit too much coffee today. Sorry." She handed the bottle back to him and the warm brush of her fingers against his sent a shiver through his body.

_Bloody_…

He tried to hide it, immediately taking a pull from the rum bottle, letting the fire of it burn down his throat. "No worries, love." He winked at her. "My rum is your rum."

She swallowed, licking her lips as if gathering courage, yet she twisted and leaned into the couch, her shoulder nearly contacting his arm still resting along the back.

Killian struggled to maintain his nonchalant appearance.

"Why did you lie earlier?"

He ran through their earlier conversations, unable to find a direct lie. He'd been careful—the damn buzzing in his head quite insistent—to only speak the truth, evading or redirecting a question when he could not answer.

His expression must have shown his confusion because she continued. "You've obviously seen a movie before, Jones. You quoted one of the most well-known lines from _The Princess Bride_."

He made a mental note to ask Henry about the movie at first opportunity. "I have no memory of ever seeing a so-called "movie", much less the one you're speaking of. Whatever words I used that mimicked this movie, are pure coincidence, I assure you." He gave her a little nod. "You strike me as someone who can detect when a person lies. I'm telling you the truth."

Her eyes bored into his and she searched his gaze—her superpower at full force.

He knew the moment she believed him as more tension left her body, her eyes a bit dazed. "How could you know that?

"You're something of an open book."

She studied him again, trying to detect a lie. "Prove it."

_Careful._

"Try something new, darling. It's called trust." He watched her for signs of recognition but her walls remained firmly in place.

"Are you used to people trusting you?"

Killian thought about it, and realized no one, other than the woman before him, had fully trusted him in a very long time. And the old Emma would have denied it to her last breath.

He bit his lip, giving a self-deprecating smile. "Actually, no. You have to be part of something to encourage trust." An odd ripple ran through his mind with his words, tingling with a sense of déjà vu.

Her demeanor cracked, vulnerability seeping out. "Or you can be alone and never get hurt."

He nodded again. "Aye."

Another ripple washed over him, much like a wave slamming into his thoughts.

_What the—_

_Am I remembering something?_

Silence wrapped around them—this time warm and soothing. Their gazes remained locked, each sharing a piece of themselves normally hidden away. He could count on one hand the times the other Emma had allowed him to really see her.

_Perhaps a part of her remembers…_

It ended in a blink—the moment gone too quickly—but it gave him hope.

She sighed. "So, this is new for me and I think if this roommate thing is going to work, we need ground rules."

_Interesting_…

He sipped from the bottle again, curious to see what she had in mind. "Seeing as we possess equal shares of this domicile, it is only right to set the proper expectations."

_She has no idea how much this exchange will reveal._

Her jaw dropped—he'd obviously surprised her—and she nodded. "Exactly." She relaxed deeper into the couch, pushing the pillow behind her shoulder into his arm.

_Who needs this many pillows, anyway?_

"Name your terms, love, and I shall name mine." The words came out more intimate than intended and he schooled his face to hide the heat behind his words.

"You can't bring women home," she said, her words blurting out. Her cheeks flushed again and this time he couldn't stop the swirl of hope from growing. "I won't have Henry exposed to that."

_Ah, so she planned to blame the boy for this rule._

He raised an eyebrow. "And if he is otherwise occupied at another location? Does the rule still stand?"

She glared at him and it almost felt like the old Swan. "Kids are unpredictable, schedules change. It's safer to just assume he's always home."

"Am I allowed to bring anyone here at all, or are you only worried about those intended to share a... _nightcap_?"

Her tongue traced her lips and he wondered again if a part of her remembered…

"I'm careful about who comes into contact with my son. As long as I can meet any of your friends before they meet Henry, I don't see why it wouldn't be alright. I just…he just…" Her cheeks reddened further. "No nightcaps, okay? I'd like to avoid that parenting discussion for a few more years."

He nodded with a smile. "I had no intentions of doing so, darling, but it's always nice to know we're in agreement."

Her mouth gaped again before she quickly closed it. He saw her mental shake, the reforming of her mask, and when her eyes met his again she was back in control. "Your turn."

He played with the rum bottle, eyes dropping from hers, trying to make his voice casual as he spoke. "It only seems good form that the same rule applies to you, love." He had to force his gaze back to hers, afraid of what he might see.

This time the surprise was his, the smile spreading across her face far too knowing as she spoke. "I had no intentions of ever bringing anyone back for a _nightcap_—Henry, remember?—but it's always nice to know we're in agreement."

_Bloody brilliant minx._ He walked right into that one.

He gave her a little bow. "Well played, Swan. I believe it's your turn."

This time she broke eye contact. "I don't date roommates."

"Date?" The word was unfamiliar.

"Yeah, date. You know," she paused as if searching for words, "_date_?"

"I'm afraid not, darling."

He could've sworn he heard her mutter _"I need to invest in a dictionary" _before her eyes lit up. "Courting! You know courting, right?"

He nodded at her. "Aye."

"Courting is a lot like dating. There's no courting between roommates."

Killian almost laughed in relief, her goals so in line with his current plan.

Of course he wished to curse as well, for if he'd sworn not to pursue her and she did the same for him…

_It will make it damn difficult to win her heart… ever._

_And if I have to witness her "date" another…_

_Oh, bloody hell._

"Is that a common problem for you, love?"

She shrugged, but her expression grew guarded.

_I struck a nerve._

She crossed her arms, rubbing them as if cold. "When you live with someone, things can seem… more intimate. One person might read too much into to it… It can snowball out of control and suddenly one person is hurt and rejected. Then living together is just awkward and painful. The rule keeps that from happening."

Somehow he doubted any rule could've prevented him from falling for her.

As a pirate, he preferred breaking rules instead of following them; they were a challenge to overcome. However, this rule could be most useful…

"I'll concede such a rule could eliminate many complications and seems sound, if you agree to my caveat."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "And what would that be?"

"I would very much like us to be mates—friends as you call it. However, it would require you to spend some time—completely platonic of course—in my presence."

He'd survived Neverland—twice. Surely he could survive a friendship with Emma until she remembered.

Even if he had to fight a constant battle to hide his love for her.

_I've done it before._

She rolled her eyes. "We share an apartment. We'll see each other plenty."

"Yes, but I imagine your boy will also be around much of that time." His grip tightened on the rum bottle, fighting the urge to touch her, the move exactly the wrong one to pair with his words. "I want time alone with you, like this, when we can…talk. Get to know one another."

The alternative—living with her but having her remain a stranger—would be far worse.

He'd take as much as he could without crossing a line, so if—_when_—Emma's memories returned he'd still have a shot.

He caught a flicker of fear in her eyes and wondered if he'd pushed too hard, too soon. Her superpower face had returned, desperate to catch him in lie and push him away.

_It won't work, darling. I meant every damn word._

She reached the same conclusion because a tentative smile formed and she acquiesced, giving a nod. "Okay." She cleared her throat, obviously ready to shove their shared moment into the past. "Next term—and this is non-negotiable—you must never, ever, leave the toilet seat up."

_Oh bloody hell._

_What was a toilet?_

* * *

**_A/N: I have been amazed by the response to this. Only two chapters posted and over 130 follows! I've also loved hearing what you think about the AU divergence from the show, because this is the first time I've purposefully written a true alternate universe after it is has happened (compared to a new episode rendering something AU)._**

**_I've always been annoyed how the writers never addressed why those who did not come with the original curse had to stay, so this idea has been in my head for a while. Having it follow my "Leaving Neverland" fic gives Hook added incentive to see if Regina really knows all the rules and to challenge them._**

**_Please be patient with updates (or lack thereof) over the next two weeks. I'll be on vacation and (unless the weather is horrible) will not likely have time to write. Plus I'm a mother of two and summer time means less free time, not more. _**

**_As always, much love to Arandil, my fabulous beta, who makes my writing better._**

**_Review? What are you dying to see Killian experience? Do you have questions about the curse? Something you really love? Really hate? Really love to hate? I welcome all feedback, but detailed reviews fuel the muse…_**


	4. Chapter 3: Faking It

_**Sorry for how long it took to update this. Summer time schedules are not conducive to writing, sadly. My beta is also swamped so I am desperately seeking a grammar loving, Captain Swan adoring (got to make sure I stay in character), beta. PM me if you're interested.**_

_**Thank you to those who kept nudging me for updates.**_

_**This is a shorter chapter but I'm already at least a 1/3 through the next one which will likely be significantly longer.**_

_**And if you catch any mistakes, message me. This is un-beta'd for now.**_

_**Is anyone else dying for episode 4x04 tonight and the date? This season has been wonderful for the muse.**_

_**I don't own Once Upon a Time or the characters.**_

_**Without further ado...**_

* * *

**Chapter 3: Faking It**

Emma squirmed on the couch and sighed, silently cursing sleep for eluding her. She glared at Killian—his breaths deep and relaxed on the other couch—and wished for his amazing ability to fall asleep within minutes.

_That's not all you wish for._

She punched the couch pillow—_why didn't I buy pillows at the store earlier, or in Boston?—_and attempted to use her irritation to shove away the ridiculously crazy urges the man stirred within her after less than twenty-four hours.

It didn't make sense, this magnetic pull pleading with her to trace the lines of his body, to draw his lips to hers and inhale him.

_Or to have Killian's tongue tasting—_

_Shut up!_

She banged her head against the pillow, the cushioned softness doing little to drive the vivid image away.

_I just need to get laid. God, it's been…_

Emma struggled trying to remember the last time she'd had a date or used a rare night alone to find someone seeking a brief, no-strings attached release. A fog shrouded her mind, hiding any details she wished to gleam from the hazy images.

… _far too long._

She seized onto the obvious explanation, clutching it like a lifeline. Once she and Henry were settled, his days passed in school, she'd have to find someone suitable so she could stop fantasizing about her off-limits roommate.

_And Killian and I will be… what? Friends?_

She couldn't deny how the vulnerability lacing his request to become her friend spoke to the abandoned girl inside her—a piece of her buried long ago when she closed herself off from the world.

_I want to be his friend but…_

Killian's ability to connect with the walled off part of her after less than a day in his presence scared her more than her attraction toward him.

_I can't let him in._

_Probably shouldn't have allowed him to move in with you then._

_He'll leave me, like everyone else._

_You're the one who agreed to be his friend._

_I blame the rum._

_You like him. Admit it._

_I do not._

_Liar._

Emma groaned, hitting the pillow again in frustration.

"Something wrong, love?"

A small yelp of surprise escaped from her mouth. "I thought you were asleep!"

"Perhaps it's time to warn you; I'm a notoriously light sleeper." The timber of his voice, slightly deeper than earlier, had butterflies dancing in her stomach.

And she hated it—hated him—for her powerlessness over preventing such a juvenile reaction.

"Or you're really good at faking it." The biting words were out before she could stop them and she blushed at the unintended entendre.

She heard his body shift on the couch in the silence stretching between them, dreading his response.

He surprised her. Again.

"I admit such a skill has been quite useful in the past, particularly as a young lad with a penchant for trouble, but just so we're clear, darling, my ability to deceive does not end with sleep. My expertise with duplicity and prevarication allowed me to survive on more than one occasion."

_Truth_.

His words were matter-of-fact, spoken as if narrating as story, yet Emma sensed pain beneath them, knew it was there, because she too had done what was necessary to survive.

Lie. Cheat. Seduce. Steal.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You're the one who addressed the caliber of my ability to "fake it", love." She swore she could hear him winking in the dark. "If you don't wish to hear a response, I'd refrain from eliciting such challenges." A cork popped. "Because I love a challenge."

Emma couldn't help it, she laughed, recognizing his skillful dodge of her question. "I'll remember that." She listened to him swallow, wishing she thought to pick up a bottle of wine or tequila or whiskey—anything—to help pull her into sleep.

"See that you do, Swan."

A shiver raced through her, his words somehow an order, a warning, and a promise.

_I have got to get laid. Soon._

_In the meantime, I need something to help me sleep…_

"Whatever happened to 'my rum is your rum', huh?"

* * *

Killian waited an extra ten minutes, making sure Emma's breaths remained deep and even, before he rose from his couch and walked toward her.

_Damn, she's beautiful._

She lay on her side with one arm tucked beneath the pillow and the other flung over her head where a lock of hair drifted across her face. He tightened his fist, wanting to touch her and tuck it behind her ear. A soft snore escaped from her mouth and his lips curved in a smile as he imagined her mock outrage tomorrow if he teased her about it.

The lines of her face were smooth and relaxed, free of the furrowed brow that had remained the only other time he'd seen her asleep.

_He watched Emma's shadowed figure in the twilight, unable to see more since Regina had doused the fire with a flick of her hand. An eerie quiet blanketed the camp, only punctuated by the occasional sigh or snore from Swan's parents._

_If Killian hadn't studied her so closely, he'd have missed the occasional movement and the tension emanating all the way from across the clearing; she reacted much like a sailor poised for an attack, twitching at every noise._

_He'd learned to function on little sleep after centuries in Neverland—one never knew when Pan might launch an attack—but they'd only been here for a few days and he was quite certain Swan had yet to acquire the skill._

_He'd awaken at night and hear her—her breaths too rapid to be in the arms of sleep—and circles had appeared beneath her eyes._

_Ever since Pan's visit when he gifted her with that bloody map._

_Perhaps it was Pan's plan all along—to exhaust the Savior until she was incapable of saving anyone._

_Killian smirked at the thought—Pan had no idea who he was up against._

_Still, gaining some much needed rest wouldn't hurt her, only help._

_He rose from the tree he'd lounged against, watching her figure startle at the motion—Bae's sword in hand. He knew the moment she recognized him for her arm dropped again and she leaned against the log behind her._

"_What do you want, Hook?" Exhaustion coated her quiet words along with a heavy dose of wariness._

_He settled on the ground next to her, purposefully positioning himself mere inches away. He could see her expression now, faint in the twilight, the curiosity and caution warring against each other in her eyes. "I thought I'd offer my services." He grinned as she rolled her eyes at him._

"_Really, Hook? My father is twenty feet away and you're propositioning me?"_

_Killian's smile grew wider. "Hardly—I was merely offering to watch over the camp so you could rest, but if you have other activities in mind to help you sleep, I could be persuaded to—"_

_He released a soft "oof" as her elbow met his shoulder. "Seriously?"_

"—_share some rum with you," he finished, giving her a smirk as he pulled the bottle of rum from his jacket. "Whatever did you think I meant, love?"_

_She took a deep breath as if to calm herself before twisting to fully face him. "I don't need anything from you, including rum."_

_Killian kept his mask in place, refusing to show how her dig hurt, and raised an eyebrow at her. "Aren't you the one who so passionately argued we had to defeat Pan together, as a team? The task might prove to be a bit difficult if you're dead on your feet."_

"_I can take care of myself."_

"_Then do so, darling, and allow me to ensure the safety of your family." He saw the battle within her and waited to see which side won._

_She answered by grabbing the bottle from his hand, popping off the lid, and taking a long swig before handing it back to him, refusing to meet his eyes while doing so. She stood and walked a short distance away before bending over to retrieve something. She carried the item—a blanket—back to her spot and put it beneath her on the ground before lying upon it._

_Afraid to speak, he waited as she settled so close to his body he swore he could feel the heat radiating from her skin._

"_I'm a light sleeper, Hook. Try anything and I'll be awake instantly." A warning. A threat._

_A plea._

_It presented the perfect opportunity to gain more of her trust and he gave her a little nod. "I assure you, no harm shall come to anyone on my watch."_

_He leaned into the log more, making himself as comfortable as possible before she fell asleep. He focused on the sounds around him—should anything happen, that would be the earliest sign of warning. Swan's breathing joined the mix and he smiled as it altered into practiced deep breaths designed to mimic sleep._

_He allowed her the ruse, knowing from experience how it often led to actual sleep._

_Perhaps an hour passed—damn she was good—but eventually her sounds softened and he allowed himself to look at her._

_Pale skin shimmering in the twilight, one hand near the sword on her opposite side—ready to draw on a moment's notice—the other inches from his leg, as if to detect any movement he dared make._

_And her face—so masked and closed when awake—mimicked that of an angel, serene yet stunning, only marred by the furrowed brow that worried even while she slept._

_He stopped his hand just in time from smoothing the lines out, wanting her to have some semblance of peace, knowing it would likely be counterintuitive and jolt her awake._

_He listened to the dark jungle around them, attuned for the slightest hint that anything was off, his eyes fully focused on her, unable to cease memorizing every curve and line of her face._

_And when Emma rolled in her sleep towards him, one arm draping over Killian's leg, her breath near his hip, it took everything in his power to remain silent and still._

The memory was fresh—it didn't feel like long ago—and so detailed it had to be true.

_Didn't it?_

He had to know if his life—everything that made him _him_—was real.

_And the life Emma remembers—do you think it feels no less real to her—whether based on lies or truth?_

_Bloody_...

_Proof. I need proof._

His bare feet were quiet as he tore his gaze away from Emma and walked into the kitchen where she had plugged her device—something called a "cell phone"—into the wall which held multiple sources of "electricity".

_Whatever the hell that meant._

His hour long chat with Swan had covered a plethora of modern terminology—such as her phone, toilets, showers, and other various items around the apartment, but he knew it merely marked the start of what he didn't know.

He'd deal with how and why the things worked later when he had the time, choosing to view them much like he did magic: mysterious, powerful, useful, and sometimes deadly.

He picked up Swan's phone, stroking his thumb across the surface as he'd seen her do earlier.

_Please work._

To his delight, the device lit up, displaying the last thing Swan had shown him: a map detailing their area of the city.

She'd shown Killian how to do something called "scrolling"—though what the bloody hell it had to do with rolled parchment he had yet to determine—and how to search—_at least the magnification glass symbol made a modicum of sense_. He carefully tapped in the address he recalled from his last visit to Manhattan—biting back more than one curse as he tried to find the correct letters, where precisely the numbers hid, and how the hell to erase his mistakes.

The clock taunted him, showing him the supposedly simple task had taken twenty minutes.

_Bloody hell._

Finally the map moved, displaying a symbol over what he hoped was the correct location. It took him a dozen tries to remember precisely how to "zoom out" so he could see where it was in relation to his present location.

Further than anticipated, but he knew one of the yellow carriages—taxis if he recalled—could take him there. Swan had insisted they could pretty much take him anywhere he didn't wish to walk or he could take something called "the subway".

_I'll show you how the subway works tomorrow, she said when he'd asked, the indulgent smile on her face worth displaying the constant ineptitude he'd sworn not to hide._

Killian studied the bright screen, carefully reading the named streets, how they connected, and committing the layout to memory. One thing he'd learned in all his years was preparation for any contingent could spell the difference between his life or his death.

And Swan's and the boy's as well.

It was hours later—dawn would arrive far too soon—when he finally set down the phone, his eyes blurred and weary. He waited for a bit, happy to see the device went dark on its own, before walking back to his couch.

Emma had twisted in her sleep—her shirt hiked above her waist displaying a tantalizing amount of her stomach and her blanket had fallen to the floor.

The sight brought an ache to his heart.

_Damn_.

He wanted to pull her close, feel her warmth mingle with his, meet every hitch of her breath, hold the reassuring thud of her heart beat against his skin.

Knowing it wouldn't happen—couldn't happen—until she remembered.

_I have to make her remember._

Even then he had no guarantees she wanted the same, only hope.

He picked her blanket up, careful not to touch her or do anything that might rouse her from sleep as he gently covered her with it.

He forced himself to walk away, sinking into his couch and facing away from her before he succumbed to his wishes.

_Bloody hell._

He transferred his thoughts to the other thing he'd discovered that evening: the possible location of the curse.

He'd traced the lines of the map, tracking them out of the city, reversing the direction they'd travelled until he was certain he'd found their point of origin—where his memory of this journey had begun: the middle of nowhere; not a single settlement or harbor around, no logical location where Swan might have retrieved him.

Too far for the taxis to travel, he knew at some point he needed to find his way back there.

_If you leave this town, you take Henry with you. _The voice paused for a beat._ And Miss Swan._

He gave a small groan—her majesty had no business invading his mind—and muttered, "Do you really think I'd leave them behind?"

He needed to do more research before leaving the city anyway.

_First shopping with Swan and the lad tomorrow._

Then at first opportunity he'd do reconnaissance at Baelfire's. For all Killian knew, the curse had brought Bae here as well and the man was frantically trying to find Swan and his son.

_Or he isn't and keeping them safe is all up to you, Captain._

Killian thought of Neverland, of Bae's—Neal's—declaration to never stop fighting for Emma after his rescue from the cave.

_His love and his son are here…. I find it hard to comprehend how I could be in this land while he is not._

_I'd do anything to find her. So would he._

The last thing he heard as he drifted off to sleep, exhaustion finally claiming him, was the echoing laughter of the Evil Queen.

* * *

_**Review?**_

_**Constructive criticism and comments always welcomed. **_


	5. Chapter 4: The Wrong Attachment

**_Thank you to those who offered to beta! If I never responded to your offer, the PM might have gotten "lost". Last week I became aware of several PM's that never reached their recipient (either to me or someone else), so apologies. Feel free to message me again._**

**_Many thanks to BirdOfOrk for beta-ing this chapter, and to OnceSnow for their sharp grammar eyes (and for explaining WTF a split infinitive is)._**

**_A few reviewers requested a scene where Killian gets "real" clothes. You're welcome. _:-)**

**_Without further ado... enjoy._**

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Wrong Attachment**

"Where did you get all of this?" Emma asked, her surprise and a pounding headache making her voice sharp. Two sets of eyes swiveled to her from behind a selection of bagels, muffins, and bear claws piled on the kitchen counter and table.

_Is that hot chocolate I smell?_

Her stomach rumbled in response.

_Traitor_.

_Better than throwing up in the toilet._

_How much rum did I drink last night anyway?_

Jones raised an eyebrow at her from his spot leaning against the kitchen counter. "Good morning to you too, love. Have a rough night?"

She glared at him. _Of course he wasn't hungover_. "I've had worse."

"Mom, you have to eat one of these bagels. They're awesome." Henry grinned from the kitchen table where a half-eaten bagel dangled from his hand.

Emma couldn't help smiling at her son's enthusiasm and rose from the couch, self-consciously running her fingers through her hair in a desperate attempt to tame any bedhead because—_dammit_—she still sensed her roommate's eyes upon her, likely cataloging her every flaw.

There wasn't a lot she could do about her appearance until after she went shopping anyway.

Meanwhile, even his eyeliner looked perfect—not that she'd noticed.

She really tried not to notice.

_Since when do I find eyeliner attractive on a guy?_

_Probably from the moment he said, "Hello."_

She sank into a chair next to Henry, only to find Jones invading her space—the scent of leather mingling with chocolate—as he placed a cup in front her.

Emma sipped it—the taste of cinnamon lacing her drink unfurling warmth inside of her—forcing her eyes to meet his. "How did you know?"

The happy smile he gifted her caught her off guard. Her pulse quickened, heating her more than the hot chocolate. "Well, your lad insisted starvation was imminent and since I am always a gentleman, it seemed the least I could do was retrieve some sustenance for us all."

She shook her head, gesturing with her cup. "No, how did you know what I like to drink?"

He winked at her. "I should think the answer would be quite obvious."

"I told him, Mom. I wanted to go with him but he said I had to stay here in case you woke up and thought he kidnapped me or something." Henry rolled his eyes.

Jones shrugged. "It seemed like the safest course of action. Your mother is armed and probably brandishes a strong left … hook."

Emma stared at him, stunned.

_If Henry had been missing when I woke up?_

_I would have freaked out. Called the cops. Probably thrown his ass in jail._

_That might have made things easier._

_Because Jones couldn't just be hot. He had to be nice too._

_Shit._

"Thank you." A smile escaped and Emma just hoped it hid any vulnerability his kind actions exposed. "I'll pay you back later."

Jones reached over and grabbed a muffin from the table before seating himself next to her. "No need to, lass. Henry used something called "goo-goal" to provide the required information and the small card I have took care of the transaction." He leaned back in the chair and Emma's eyes took in the broad expanse of chest hair before she tore them away to see another wink. "Your smile is payment enough."

It was a line—it had to be—yet her superpower disagreed.

_Truth._

_I am so screwed._

* * *

The string of curses emanating from the men's dressing room earned a disapproving glare from the salesman and Emma tossed him an apologetic smile.

_Please don't let Jones get us kicked out of here._

_He's not that loud. You can only hear him because you're hovering by the dressing room._

_I'm not hoveri_ng;_ I'm making myself available in case he has any...questions._

She glanced at Henry on the opposite side of the store, tapping her phone to search for a good dinner spot.

_At least Henry won't pick up any new words._

_For now._

The day had been a good one.

_I can't remember the last time I laughed so much. _

_So why can't I shake the feeling that something is...off?_

_Maybe that's the problem. It's going too well. And it scares you._

Her headache had dissipated surprisingly fast after breakfast and the banter between Henry and Killian as they spent the day shopping had practically cemented the damn smile on her face.

_I'm not supposed to like him this much._

_This soon._

Even now, as the cursing resumed—a part of her remembered doing something similar the last time she'd tried on bathing suits—she had to bury her amusement from the associate. "Maybe I'll just go see what the problem is." She received a brief nod and the salesman stalked off, most likely to keep any other customers out of hearing range.

Luckily they were the only ones in the changing area at the moment because another round of expletives erupted.

_I'll have to remember that one the next time someone pisses me off._

"You really do swear like a sailor, Jones." She fought to wipe the grin off her face, knowing he wouldn't be amused.

The cursing stopped. "Are you laughing at me, Swan?"

"No." _Smiling wasn't laughing._

"Don't lie, darling. I can practically feel the smile on your face from in here."

_Busted. _"Well_,_ smiling isn't the same as laughing. Besides, aren't you the one who said my smile was payment enough?"

_Dear God, am I...flirting with him?_

_Stop it!_

"Alas, I am deprived of such a sight while in this box." She heard a thump, like he kicked or bumped into the wall.

_Maybe he's trapped. Stop flirting and help the poor guy._

"So come out before you scare the other shoppers away, or are you stuck in there?"

"Not exactly, love."

"Then what's the problem?" She couldn't hide her curiosity now, because although Jones acted as though he'd been frozen in time for a century or two when it came to technology, he always appeared calm and intrigued by each new challenge.

_Always? You've known him for a day. Maybe he's been on his best behavior and now you're just seeing the real side of him._

_No. I haven't caught him in a single lie. Something is definitely bothering him._

"Jones?"

"The problem is these infernal trousers resemble a damned torture device."

She swallowed a giggle—_what the hell, a giggle?—_and covered it by coughing. "Welcome to the world of fashion. Be glad you never have to wear stilettos. Stop being a baby and let me see."

"Bloody hell." A dull thud sounded. "Just remember you asked for it, darling." The door clicked and he emerged from the dressing room.

_Oh._

_Holy._

_God._

A black vee-neck sweater—it looked like cashmere—clung to his upper body in a way that made her want to slide her fingers underneath the soft fabric and trace the muscular lines.

But when Emma glanced downward and saw the blue jeans cradling his thighs, or rather the open zipper in the front of those jeans highlighting the dark line of hair running from his abdomen to his—

_Was he naked under those pants?_

_Sweet mother of—_

"If you keep staring at me like that, Swan, I'm going to have a much bigger problem in a few moments." She tore her gaze from his pants and to find him looking around the room—anywhere but at her.

Her cheeks flamed even as she fought to regain control. "Sorry, I just… You know you're supposed to fasten the pants, right?"

_And wear underwear._

_Did he always go around without it?_

_Had he even heard of underwear?_

He bowed his head, tongue sliding between his teeth—_was he trying to tease her?_—as he scratched the back of his neck, his focus somewhere off to his left. "Yes, I bloody well know what they _should_ do, but either they are too small or…"

She found herself licking her lips—unintentionally of course. "Or?"

He held up his left hand—the fake one—waving it in front her face and his eyes finally met hers. "This hand is bloody useless." At her confused look he gave a self-deprecating smile. "I can't close these damned things one-handed. I need my—" he took a deep breath, as if to decide what he wanted to say. "I need a different… attachment."

_Mind out of the gutter. Mind out of the..._

_Too late. You've been there since he walked out of that door._

"You have more than one?" For some reason the idea hadn't occurred to her.

_How many hands did he need anyway? What would he do with them all?_

_Was one for—_

"Aye. Perhaps if you'd be so kind to—"

"Is everything okay back here?" The salesman's voice called from just outside the room and Emma reacted with a simple thought.

_Help him._

She eliminated the distance between them until they were only inches apart. Her fingers found his stomach and slipped beneath the band of his pants, tugging it closed and fastening the button.

"Swan?" Her name tumbled out in a choked voice.

"Just hold still a minute." She tried to be clinical, detached, but her body betrayed her. Her trembling hands slid lower, carefully pulling the zipper together, unable to miss the hardness swelling beneath and the small groan vibrating through his body.

_Or was that my groan?_

_By all that is holy…_

"Are you trying to kill me, love? Because I think it's—"

"Can I get you anything?" Emma whirled around to face the salesman—the annoyance shining through his polite exterior—still blocking most of Killian from view.

She pasted on a smile, wanting him gone, needing to escape the store and this dressing room before she jumped her very off-limits roommate. "You did a great job picking out clothes for my ah… friend. We'll take everything." She sensed Killian's body stiffening behind her which only reminded her of the hardened heat she'd brushed as she—

The salesman beamed at them—the change in attitude nearly giving her whiplash—likely envisioning his healthy commission. "Excellent. I'll give you moment then." He was gone in an instant, leaving Emma alone with Killian and the thick tension wrapping around them.

_That's because you want to wrap your hand around—_

_Shut up! Focus._

"What are you playing at here, Swan?" The low, gravelly voice brought to mind a dark room with her against a ladder, his mouth slowly traveling—

_Oh please yes._

_Wait what?_

_A ladder? Really?_

_You're losing it._

_Get a grip. Add distance_.

She escaped a few feet away—nearly tripping in her haste—before facing him, biting her lip as she met the banked desire in his eyes. "Sorry, I just…. I didn't think you'd want him to see you so… exposed." _Or wearing merchandise commando style._ "I was trying to help. It's not my fault you... overreacted."

_He wasn't the only one._

Jones raised an eyebrow at her. "I don't know what sort of men you recall spending time with, love, but I assure you, my body's reaction is exactly what one would expect when a beautiful woman touches it in such a fashion. No matter the intent."

_Did he just call me beautiful?_

_Do not blush. Do not blush. Do not—_

Emma blushed.

_Fix it._

"Fair enough." She shrugged, trying to give it the air of nonchalance. "And at least we know the jeans fit now."

_Boy did they fit._

The heat hadn't left his eyes, making his next words sound like a seductive invitation. "Do you plan to help me get dressed every morning, love?"

_Or undressed. That would be a lot more fun._

_Oh for the love of..._

_Get control. Set boundaries. Remember the ground rules._

"Yeah, that's not in our agreement. You said you had another _attachment_ that would work, right? So use it. This was a one-time thing, Jones." _It has to be._ _Touching him is… dangerous._ She wanted to stop there, but couldn't keep herself from adding, "It's not my fault you couldn't handle it."

_A challenge._

_Didn't he tell you how he loves a challenge?_

_Stupid stupid stupid…_

He studied her—_searching her eyes for what?—_and _dammit_, her body swayed toward him and she simultaneously applauded and chided herself for ensuring space between them.

_Because the look on his face—_

He took a step towards her.

—_that smile._

"Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it."

The words lit something within her. She walked two steps towards him, one hand reaching for his necklace before she realized what she was doing.

_What the hell?_

_Was I going to…kiss him?_

Emma quickly smothered the compulsion. She dropped her hand, but couldn't stop herself from invading his space—_I have to_—until mere inches separated them and she flashed a smirk to hide behind. "Keep smiling, buddy. You're on your own for removing those—what did you call them?—torturous trousers. And if you can't, you'll just have to wear them a few more hours until we get home."

_Leave. Now._

She spun on her heel to exit the dressing room, intent on escape.

"As you wish."

The wall almost hit her on her way out.

* * *

Killian opened his hand—his good one—inspecting the small half-moon imprints left by his fingers.

_I can't win this battle._

_I am going to fail._

He hadn't been prepared for this—for the new Emma. Less guarded than the one he knew, happier, with a smile capable of undoing him…

_And the way she looked at me…_

It had taken all his strength to hold back and not touch her.

She'd repeated their exchange from Neverland and from his cabin—two moments that forever altered his life—and again, he'd wondered if she remembered him. _Them_.

But she appeared just as surprised by her actions as he was.

Surely, it could not be a coincidence. Several of their conversations rang with familiarity, others struck a chord deep within him to the point Killian wondered if they'd spoken the words during the black voids of his memory.

He needed to know why.

_Because if she had kissed me I…_

Could he have pulled away, risked hurting her?

…_I would have been lost…_

They walked a fine line in this life and the slightest push to either side would break one of them.

And he knew now, with certainty…

He would take the push, regardless of what it meant if—_when_—her memories returned. The alternative—hurting her and leaving—was unthinkable.

He had to find a way to make her remember before their relationship crossed that line or he would likely sacrifice any chance at having a happy future with her.

_And with segments of our lives playing out again in this life?_

His gut told him it was only a matter of time.

"Wow, you actually look normal." Henry's voice tore him from his thoughts, another smile on his face.

_Excellent vigilance, Captain. Allowing a child to sneak up on you. Quit pining and act like a pirate._

_Oh bloody…_

Killian quirked an eyebrow at him. "My attire is not so strange in this city.

"Well if you compare yourself to the weirdos…"

"Leather is far more comfortable than these—," _what had Swan called them?_ "—jeans, I assure you."

"Hey, if you talk my mom into letting us have pancakes for dinner, I'll see if I can find a place that sells pants like that."

"Pancakes?"

_What the hell were those?_

"Trust me, they're amazing." At Killian's dubious look he continued. "I was right about the pizza, wasn't I?"

"Aye." He ruffled Henry's hair before he had time to second-guess his actions. "Very well, we have an accord."

"Sweet. Hurry up and get ready. I'm starving." And just like that, the boy disappeared again, leaving Killian shaking his head.

_So the lad thinks I'm a...weirdo. Guess I'll be wearing these damn trousers after all._

_Bloody…_

* * *

_...Hell._

_Was this a sign? A clue?_

_Or yet another coincidence?_

"Killian, come on. We're almost there." Henry tugged at his arm—Swan had once again ensured her son was strategically placed between them—dragging him toward their dinner destination.

The Tick-Tock Diner.

"_Tick-tock, dearie. Tick-tock."_

Would he find the crocodile inside?

And if he did, would the Dark One's memories still be intact?

_Or will he want to kill me?_

_Or am I losing my bloody mind?_

Killian's feet continued forward, his body tense, and he slipped his hand into his jacket, gripping the cold metal of his hook, wishing he could twist it into place.

He caught Swan's perplexed look. "You okay?"

Not wanting to lie, not able to speak the truth, he found the area in between where most of his answers lived now. "Merely wondering what awaits us in this diner."

Henry linked his arms between them both, bringing a small smile to Emma's face. He grinned. "Pancakes. _Lots_ of pancakes. Now hurry up."

The boy's enthusiasm was contagious and as Killian's eyes met with Emma's over the top of her son's head, he couldn't help but smile in return.

But he kept his hand in his pocket.

_Just in case._

* * *

Killian didn't relax until they exited the diner, slowing to survey the busy street as Swan and the boy walked ahead.

He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed the Dark One failed to appear.

_A bit of both, perhaps?_

_I don't have to worry about the crocodile trying to kill me if he is not in New York, but then I also have no one possessing the answers I seek._

_Just because Rumplestiltskin isn't here_ _does not mean he is not elsewhere in this city._

_Comforting thought._

_Perhaps if I find Baelfire, he'll know—_

Something yanked him forward. He flew through the air and tumbled to the unforgiving ground below, the wind knocked from his lungs while a horrible screech sounded from behind.

"Killian!" Swan reached his side, hovering over him and crouching down. "Are you okay?"

"What the hell?" He turned to look where he'd been. One of the yellow transports—_a_ _taxi_—had stolen the spot he'd been in mere moments ago. The man inside yelled unintelligible words—his meaning quite clear—but Killian saw no one close enough to have helped him.

"Wow! That was an amazing jump!" Henry joined his mother, a look of awe on his face. "That was at least six feet!"

_Jump?_

_I didn't jump._

"What are you talking about?" Killian's mind whirred, trying to fit the pieces together of what exactly had happened.

Thoughts that ceased when a gloved hand—Swan's—brushed over his forehead before traveling through his hair, lightly pressing into his scalp; her gaze following her fingers. "Did you hit your head? Maybe I should call an ambulance."

Killian waited until her eyes returned to his, afraid to move and break the contact.

The look on her face would have driven him to his knees had he not already been lying upon the ground, its meaning crystal clear: _I can't lose you_.

He'd seen the same expression once before. In Dark Hollow.

_But here, without her memories…_

_It shouldn't be possible._

"Killian, say something." A plea.

He didn't—_couldn't_—stop his hand as it brushed a wayward lock of hair behind her ear, her skin warm where he skimmed its surface. "I'm quite alright, love. I've fared far worse on more occasions than I care to count."

_Several times by your own hand, darling._

"Are you sure?" The concern faded a bit with his words, the desperation vanishing with it.

He tried not to mourn the loss.

_Perhaps if you made her laugh…_

"Aye." Killian forced a grin and lowered his voice so Henry couldn't hear him. "But if it will make you feel better, I'll allow you to search my body thoroughly when we return home." He winked at her.

For a moment, he thought she'd punch him as her eyes narrowed and she verified Henry was in fact out of range.

He waited, almost hoping for it because it would be another sign the Swan he knew remained.

Then she shook her head and laughed.

It slammed into his gut, sending the breath from his lungs as realization dawned.

_She's happier here. Free of the burden of being the Savior._

_But it isn't real. And I plan to steal that happiness in favor of the truth._

_Will she forgive me?_

_What would Swan want me to do?_

Her eyes twinkled with mirth and he swallowed, so unused to this less walled-off version of her.

_The one I've sworn to destroy._

Emma held out her hand and he grabbed it to help him to his feet. She released him and leaned close, her breath touching his ear. "Be careful, Jones, or I might take you up on that offer and leave you in a very hard place."

_Did she just—_

He had no time to think about it as she nodded down the street. "Are we going to buy some cell phones or not, guys?"

"Yes!" Henry's answer was emphatic.

He held out his right arm, motioning for her to go. "Lead the way, Swan."

"Are you kidding, after you nearly got hit by a taxi? Henry, you grab that side, I'll get this one." Henry's left arm linked with his right while Swan's right linked with his left, firmly sandwiching him between the two. "Don't think I'm taking my eyes off you for a second."

_This turned out so well for me the last time…_

_But I have to say it._

"I would despair if you did."

* * *

_**Reviews fuel the muse. **_

_**All forms of feedback welcomed, whether constructive criticism, flailing, suggestions, complaints, questions, etc.**_


	6. Chapter 5: Déjà Vu

**Chapter 5: Déjà Vu**

_I'm in trouble._

Emma sipped her hot chocolate, half-perched on the kitchen counter as she watched her son and Killian. They sat on the couch, facing each other and tapping away on their new phones; Henry was apparently teaching their roommate all the various bells and whistles of the device. Minus the occasional grunt of frustration, Killian appeared to be enjoying it, a triumphant smile often gracing his face as he mastered each new skill, Henry punctuating the moments by sharing a jubilant fist bump with him.

She smiled, every damn time.

Jones glanced in her direction, a question in his eyes paired with a blatant invitation—and Emma had to fight the urge to answer and join them.

_The day, the moment, watching Henry with Killian—it was too perfect._

And if there was one thing Emma had learned in all her years, it was not to trust the appearance of perfection. If something appeared too good to be true, then it was likely a trap… and time to run.

_Only now…_

Henry laughed at something Killian said and her son's eyes lit up, shining with happiness.

…_I don't want to. This is my home now. Henry's home._

_His._

Killian fit like a piece to a puzzle that inexplicably belonged with them, filling the empty space.

She'd known it—that crystalline moment of clarity that stripped away shields and bared the truth—the second she'd turned to look at Killian and discovered him standing in the street with a cab barreling straight at him.

_No!_

_She couldn't breathe as a prickling sensation rippled through her limbs—like the fire returning to your foot when it fell asleep—and a scream caught in her throat._

_Move!_

To her shock he had, his body soaring to the safety of the sidewalk, revealing the painful truth.

_I can't lose him._

Denial wouldn't protect her and running—_the ink was barely dry on the year-long apartment lease_—was out of the question. Shoving him away, hiding, and building up the walls she'd carefully tended since Neal abandoned her would not save her.

It didn't matter that she couldn't define exactly _what_ they were: not quite friends—_it's only been two days for crying out loud_—yet somehow connected together in way that shouldn't be possible.

_And you want to rip his clothes off._

Emma smothered a laugh, her cheeks warming as Killian's eyes swung to hers. He raised a brow at her, a smile growing on his face like he _knew_.

_Shit_.

She winked in response—_seriously?—_and she caught the flicker of shock on his face before he dragged his eyes from her and responded to something Henry had said.

_I am in so much trouble._

_Best deal with it directly before it bites me in the ass and I ruin everything._

_And I will… just as soon as Henry goes to bed._

Her phone buzzed on the counter next to her and she glanced at it, surprised to see the photo she'd snapped of Killian at the diner on the screen.

She lifted her gaze and shook her head at him. "Really, Jones? I'm right here."

"He's practicing, Mom. Come on, how else is he going to learn?" Henry gave her an exasperated look.

"The lad has a point, Swan." His grin was back, phone held to his ear, and—_like every damn time he smiled_—she couldn't help but return it.

Emma sighed and picked up her phone, giving the boys a look. "Apparently there's a phone call I have to take. I'll be right back." She left the kitchen and walked to her bedroom, shaking her head. At the rate Killian absorbed technology, he'd be in line for a new phone release by the following year.

And coming back home—here—to show it off to her and Henry, because the alternative was suddenly unthinkable.

_Shit_.

_I am in so much trouble._

* * *

Silence blanketed the apartment, broken only by the faint hum of running water.

Killian struggled not to think of the cause—_Emma naked and wet, bathing in the shower and bloody hell!_—and turned his thoughts to what exactly had happened earlier that day when he'd nearly been hit by the taxi.

He hadn't jumped clear of the transport, of that he was certain. He'd been so lost thinking about the Crocodile, he'd not heard a damn thing, much less known about the danger.

But the lad believed he had jumped...

It left only one explanation, no matter how far-fetched it might be: magic.

He knew magic wasn't supposed to exist in this world. That was why he'd tracked Rumplestiltskin to this land—the demon was powerless here.

But perhaps he wasn't powerless… everywhere…

_I had to go after the Dark One here, in this particular location, because there was somewhere in this land where he did have power.._

_Perhaps the same place where Emma and I lost our memories?_

Killian sighed. Every thought simply led to more questions and he tucked his theories about the Crocodile and his dark magic away for another time, returning his focus to today's events.

While it was possible some random magical being had saved him—_few things were impossible_—a far simpler explanation existed.

_Emma. She has magic. _

Or rather, she had magic. In Neverland. In the Enchanted Forest.

In Neverland her magic seemed tenuous and new, appearing minimal next to the Evil Queen's and difficult for her to summon. Yet she had in Dark Hollow, saving him and Bae.

But in the Enchanted Forest…

_He regained consciousness just in time to witness Emma shove her mother out of the way and watched in horror as Cora plunged her hand into Emma's chest._

_No! Not her!_

_Killian tried to summon the energy to stand but paused as Cora's struggle became obvious and Emma's heart refused to be taken._

_A white light erupted from Emma and he saw her shock and confusion as Cora flew backwards, the rippling wave of magic dancing over his skin. _

He'd bet his life Emma had no idea she possessed magic at all in that moment, or at least, not magic that powerful.

No, his Swan was far from weak in the magical department. If the lass ever accepted her magic, he doubted another could be her equal.

_Assuming she ever remembers she has it._

_If she still has it._

Killian cursed his lost memories, wondering if the answer lay there.

Swan was the Savior, the one destined to break the dark curse cast by the Evil Queen. Maybe the very nature of being the Savior meant her magic could transcend non-magical realms. It made far more sense than any other explanation.

It couldn't be coincidental that both times he'd seen her magic it had involved saving herself and those she cared about from an extremely perilous situation.

_If she saved me…_

_Perhaps I mean something to her, whether she remembers or not._

_Or she wished to avoid having her son see their new roommate crushed by the vessel._

It meant it was possible he had a way to convince her that magic existed.

_Brilliant. All I have to do is step in front of a few more transports. Or perhaps out a window or off a rooftop. _

_Damn._

He couldn't risk it, not yet. If his hunch was incorrect and Swan couldn't rescue him in time he'd leave her and the lad alone.

What he needed was a plan. One where it only appeared he was in peril to her but would not result in his death if her magic failed to work.

The silence grew louder and Killian realized the water had shut off and had to turn his full attention to not remembering the last time he'd seen her without a stitch of clothing; how flushed Emma's skin had been as she'd straddled his hips and slowly slid down until….

_Bloody hell._

He failed miserably.

* * *

Emma's feet were bare as she padded back to the living room, her hair still damp and cool against the back of her flannel pajamas. The new beds and mattresses wouldn't be delivered until tomorrow which meant another night on the couch.

She ignored her roommate—he'd donned a pair of flannel pajama bottoms she'd insisted he buy, though the loose black shirt with the plunging neckline had returned—seemingly content to play with his phone over on his couch. She went to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of wine she'd picked up earlier, knowing she'd need some help falling asleep with him in such close proximity. Thankfully she'd purchased a corkscrew and the top came free with a satisfying _pop_. Of course the wine glasses and the rest of the kitchen items also wouldn't arrive until tomorrow so she had to make do with a plastic cup.

Emma sensed the weight of Killian's eyes on her—why else would her skin suddenly heat?—but every time she glanced his way, his attention was fully on his new toy.

She hesitated a second before grabbing another plastic cup and carried both of them and the bottle over to the living room.

_You can do this. Just don't think about the fact that he doesn't wear underwear and how easy it would be to slip down those pants and—_

_Mind out of the gutter!_

He finally shifted his focus to her when she paused in front of him, motioning for him to grab a cup. He winked at her. "If the lady insists." He slowly pulled one cup toward him, holding it out expectantly. "And what are we drinking to this evening?"

She tipped the bottle over, filling his cup halfway. "We need to talk." At his raised eyebrow she rolled her eyes and poured the same for herself, sinking safely onto the other couch, needing some space between them. "Again."

"Should I clear my schedule for such a nightly occurrence, love? This is becoming something of a habit where you're concerned." He smiled before she could glare at him. "However, our last chat was so informative I'd be quite the fool to complain."

"This is difficult enough to say as it is, Killian."

_I can't believe I'm talking about this._

His body stilled and she saw his face soften, the blue depths of his eyes searching hers. "You can tell me anything, love."

Warmth curled around her heart, reminding her why this conversation was so needed. "I want this to work. You. Henry and me. Sharing this place. I need this to work."

_Don't screw this up._

"I'm not going anywhere, darling."

She had to look away from his gaze, afraid her emotions were making her imagine feelings in his. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I don't." A hard edge laced his tone now. "How about you share what this is all about?"

"I like you." Emma peeked at him long enough to see his stunned look before he wiped it away. "I haven't had a guy who was a friend in… well, forever. And I want to be friends and you said you wanted to be friends so…" God, where was she going with this again?

"Let's be friends?" The devastating smile was back. "I thought we'd come that agreement during our previous discussion?"

_How the hell am I supposed to explain this?_

"Have you ever met someone and just...connected with them in a way that shouldn't be possible?" Emma took a long drink, using the cup as a reason to avoid looking at him.

_Is it possible to die from embarrassment?_

"Aye." The word was quiet, but revealed nothing else.

"Well that doesn't happen to me as a rule because the last time it did it…. it ended badly."

_That's the understatement of the decade._

"Henry's father?"

She whipped her head toward him, her shock overriding her fear. "How did you know?"

The smile this time was gentle. "Open book, love. Remember?"

"But that's what I'm talking about. You shouldn't be able to read me so well."

_No one does._

He gave a small chuckle, catching his tongue between his teeth—_how could such a small thing be so hot?_—as he shook his head in a self-deprecating way. "It's another skill learned long ago I found vital to my survival."

_Like my lie detector. _

Emma topped off her cup, which had somehow emptied itself. Her gaze shifted to his cup but stalled on the fake gloved hand, remembering Henry's disbelief over Killian's similarities to Captain Hook. "Guess you should've studied crocodiles instead."

_What are you doing? Picking a fight won't help you._

_But I… I want to know. Everything. _

The smile vanished and she tried not to mourn its loss. "He was always the Crocodile to me, but I doubted you wanted your son to hear he was also once a man." He sipped his drink while his eyes studied her—_why did it feel like he could see her soul?_—and it took all of her willpower not to break the connection and show weakness. He finally spoke. "You're trying to catch me in a lie. Why?"

_Fuck_.

She hadn't even realized that was exactly what she was doing, a last ditch effort to avoid finishing the discussion she'd initiated.

_Be honest. It's the only way you'll survive a year—or more—of living with him._

_Rip it off like a band-aid and just get it over with._

_Dammit!_

"Because I'm not sure I know how to be friends, Killian. The last time I tried to be friends with a guy was over a decade ago and I ended up pregnant and in jail for his crime."

_Why am I telling him about Neal?_

_What is wrong with me tonight?_

His eyes flared for moment, anger burning bright, the clench in his jaw obvious. "I had no idea, Swan. If I had—" He stopped abruptly and shook his head. "I'm not him, love. Those are the actions of a coward. I might not be a hero, but I'm no coward either."

Emma stamped down the flicker of warmth lit by Killian's anger before she did something like stupid, like kiss him and prove exactly how horrible she was at this friendship thing. "You're missing the point." She went to sip her wine and discovered it empty again, hurrying to pour the remnants of the bottle inside.

"Then perhaps you'll enlighten me." It was an encouragement, a nudge, to spill all her secrets until none remained.

"God, this is embarrassing. I swear, if you give me shit about this later, I will make your life a living hell." Her threat held bravado she didn't feel, but if he used this against her… everything would fall apart.

Far from being threatened, curiosity spread over his face. "If you wish, I'll never mention this conversation again, assuming you finally share the real reason you wanted to talk."

Emma sighed. "I can't believe I'm saying this." She downed the rest of her wine, disappointed when she found the bottle empty and couldn't refill her cup. _Dammit! _She set both items on the floor and wondered if he still had any rum.

_It's a band-aid, right? Rip it off._

"You're the kind of guy I'd pick up in bar, spend a few hours with in a hotel room, and then never see again." She tried to sound matter-of-fact but her cheeks burned and she was certain they were bright red.

_Why not just come out and say you want to screw his brains out while you're at it?_

"Am I?" She couldn't read him anymore, his mask from the previous day firmly in place. "Should I be flattered or offended?"

_Offended? I just admitted I want him and he wonders if he should be offended? Like I hurt his feelings?_

_What the hell?_

Emma shrugged, trying to keep her composure and finish this. "I think most men would be flattered."

"I'm not most men, Swan."

It was so obviously true—his lack of knowledge of anything invented in the last hundred years being the most obvious example—she nearly laughed.

"You're right, you aren't. But you can't tell me you've never picked someone up in a bar, or wherever you hung out, purely for the purpose of getting"—_did he know what "laid" was?_—"sex."

His cup crinkled, drawing his attention, and for moment she thought he'd crush it. Finally he brought his gaze back to hers, his emotions still shielded. "Aye, but never a woman like you."

_Now I've made a fool of myself. I thought… _

_He might want you back?_

_Yes._

"Now that I've humiliated myself completely, I'm going to go hide in my room until you fall asleep and you can keep your promise that this conversation never happened." She whirled around, swaying a bit from turning too fast before attempting to make her exit.

Suddenly a warm hand gripped her wrist, tugging her back around until she found herself inches away from Killian. His mask was gone and heat in his eyes made her want to press every inch of her body against his until they both went up in flames. She'd had just enough wine she found herself seriously considering it.

His thumb caressed the inside of her wrist—she wondered if he could feel her pulse racing—before he lifted it and brushed his lips over the top of her hand.

The kiss was chaste, like a gentleman greeting a lady in another century, but its effect on her was the exact opposite, and for the second time that day she found herself reaching for his necklace, fully intending on tugging him closer so she could taste his lips.

Only he'd pulled away, his arm rigid as he refused to allow her to eliminate the distance.

"Let me be quite clear, love. The reason I never—what did you call it?—"picked up?" a woman like you before is you are not the type where I'd be satisfied with a one-time thing."

Emma's breath hitched at his words. His voice always sounded like sex, but the certainty in his tone…

_I doubt one night would be enough either. _

His tongue slid over his teeth—_hot damn_—and he looked away for a moment before meeting her eyes again. The heat somehow held vulnerability now, as though his confession held something much deeper. "In fact, I'm quite certain one night would slowly drive me mad because it would make me realize—" he swallowed and she watched it roll down his throat "—a lifetime might not be enough."

_Oh._

_My. _

_God._

_Was he_—

He released her, stepping back until his couch blocked his movement, and opened his arms while giving a little bow. A grin—devilish and care-free, though it didn't reach his eyes—spread across his face. "And that, is precisely why I avoid "picking up" a woman like you, no matter how much my body might argue otherwise." He sat on the couch, lifting his drink from where he'd set it on the floor and taking a sip as he relaxed into the cushions.

Emma's brain buzzed—the wine had been a mistake—as she tried to decipher exactly what he'd said.

_Oh just ask him… it's not like this can get more awkward and weird._

"So do you feel it, too?"

He raised a brow at her. "You'll have to elaborate, love."

Emma struggled to find the words to explain it. "From the moment I met you, I keep feeling these weird—" What was the word she was looking for? "—compulsions to…" _Kiss you. Touch you. Feel you deep in—_

Killian frowned. "Compulsions?"

Emma nodded. "Yeah. It's strange. Like for a moment I can't control myself and I act without thinking." She left out how the compulsions weren't bad—they were all things she wanted to do—they simply overruled her common sense in favor of instant gratification.

She gave him a direct look. "That's the whole reason for this talk. I want to be friends, but I don't know how to be friends. Then you add in these moments where I—" she blushed, dropping her gaze "—I find myself needing to touch you or say these things that are probably giving you the wrong idea and I was afraid one day it would go too far and I—" This time she swallowed hard, fighting back the tears trying to fall. "You'd leave."

A muffled curse was her only warning before his arms were around her.

_Damn, he smells good. And feels good._

There was nothing romantic about the hug, but as the moment went on she suddenly had a flash of—

_Darkness and warmth, the same body holding hers, only this time he was naked and—_

Emma pushed him away, stumbling backwards.

He didn't reach for her again, merely gave her a concerned look. "Swan?"

_That wasn't me fantasizing, that was more like a memory…. Of a dream?_

_But why did he feel so familiar?_

_He didn't laugh at the compulsion thing, ask him._

"Killian, why does it feel like we've done this before?"

Surprise rippled across his face before he hid it, caution taking over. "Done what before?"

_I'm losing my mind. Better stop before he declares me certifiable. _

"Nevermind. Just imagining things again."

_But it doesn't feel like I am._

Killian released a sigh. "If you want to be friends as you claim, I think we need to agree to have honesty between us." He took a step toward her. "Let's vow to allow one another our secrets but when we do speak, let it be the truth." He held his good hand toward her. "Deal?"

Emma stared at it, unable to argue his logic if she wanted their arrangement to work. A smile escaped her face and she slid her hand into his—_so familiar_—giving it a shake. "Deal."

He held her hand a second longer than necessary before letting go and nodding in her direction. "Now then, care to share what you meant or would you prefer to let the matter drop until another time?"

_Well when he put it that way…_

"I keep getting this feeling of déjà vu around you. Like we've done this stuff before."

She saw indecision warring in his eyes and wondered what he hid from her—although per their agreement he could hide all he wanted, he just couldn't lie. She wasn't prepared for the gentle caress of his voice when he answered. "Perhaps we have, love. In a life you can't remember."

_Like I could forget him._

"So you feel it too?" Maybe she wasn't crazy.

He bit his lip, reaching back to scratch the back of his neck as he looked away. He didn't face her until he spoke again, turmoil swirling in his eyes. "That we have a history other than these last two days? Aye, I do."

_So what, we're both crazy?_

"What do you think it means?"

He shrugged casually, as though the cause was not a concern. "Perhaps an evil being cursed us and ripped away our memories, then replaced yours with false ones hoping we failed to notice the change."

Emma laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "I think we can rule that out, don't you?"

He shrugged again. "Can you think of a plausible explanation?"

_Other than lov—_

_Lust at first sight?_

"Nope." She smiled, hoping it would hide the flush rising in her face. "I guess we were cursed then. Any idea how to break the curse?"

He smiled back but somehow it felt forced, his jaw too tight. "Not a damn one. You?"

Emma pretended to think before smiling wider. "I could always ask my fairy godmother and see what she thinks."

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "if only you could" before pasting on the grin again. "By all means, question the lass."

_He's hiding something from me._

"Are you going to share what you're not telling me?"

He chuckled, but it lacked his usual infusion of joy. "I could talk all night and barely scratch the surface of what I haven't told you. That doesn't mean I should."

_Leave it to him to make evading a question sound perfectly logical._

"And this_—_" she swallowed involuntarily "—thing between us? You're okay with not acting on it and aren't going to get angry if one of those compulsions hits and I do something totally stupid and—"

"Swan." His knuckles brushed her cheek, his fingers slipping down a lock of hair where he rubbed it between his fingers. "I'm always a gentleman. If friendship is what you desire, then friends we shall be." He tucked the strand behind her shoulder and winked at her. "Though if you should happen to fall for the dashing scoundrel I am, or remember our missing history, feel free to inform me and I'll be more than willing to renegotiate the terms of our previous agreement."

_Oh my… _

This time his smile was genuine before he walked away, leaving the living room.

"Where are you going?"

He paused before entering the hallway, tossing another wink in her direction. "I do believe this is the perfect time to enjoy the shower our domicile possesses. So unless you're the type of friend who wishes to help bathe—"

_Damn him!_

She threw a pillow at Killian and he ducked just in time, the pillow hitting the wall where his head had been. "Forget I asked, okay?"

He gave a bow, arms spread out wide. "As you wish."

She shook her head, laughing as he disappeared into the hallway. "Pirate."

She sank onto her couch, sleep the furthest thing from her mind. Instead, her brain warred over imagining a very naked Killian in the shower—_how do I know just how the planes of his body will feel beneath my fingertips?_—or mulling over the veiled warning and promise she swore she heard in his earlier words.

"_You are not the type where I'd be satisfied with a one-time thing. In fact, I'm quite certain one night would slowly drive me mad because it would make me realize a lifetime might not be enough."_

Emma sighed.

_Leave it to me to find the one straight guy in New York who turns down having a one-night stand by promising forever and keeping the entire thing hypothetical. _

They would adapt and get used to each other—they had to—and one day the burning itch to touch him would fade away and they could just be friends.

_Or you discover you really are cursed and find a way to break it._

_Ha!_

Until that happened or she got a night free to actually find someone who didn't mind having a one-time thing….

She'd have to make do by repeating what she did earlier tonight, when she had used the sound of her shower to drown out the moans she couldn't hold back, picturing his fingers sliding across her body instead of her own.

_Maybe he's doing the same._

_Holy hell._

_I'm never getting to sleep._

* * *

"_Pirate."_

Killian heard the word as he stepped out of view, glad Swan couldn't see how he'd stopped in his tracks.

It had been a joke but one so achingly familiar.

_I haven't even showed her my hook yet._

It gave him hope—a dangerous thing—particularly after their earlier discussion.

_Perhaps her memories will return on their own._

_Before she pushes you to the breaking point?_

The compulsion thing worried him. If he couldn't trust Swan's actions were her own—who knew what the bloody curse had done to her—then he'd have to make sure he didn't take the bait. At least not until her memories returned.

And if he'd required any further proof how different she was in this life compared to the one he recalled, tonight's conversation would more than suffice.

Emma had opened up, actually admitting she cared for him. After two days of shared memories.

Whereas the Emma he knew… the closest she'd come to admitting she gave a damn was their night together: first when she'd pleaded for his help and then during moments when she let her guard down long enough to just feel.

_But a part of her remembers me, even in this life._

_Surely that means something._

He'd focus on being her friend, on his long list of growing questions, and do his best to avoid any amorous interludes between them.

Swan would likely drive him mad, although the alternative—to be separated from her—was far worse.

_Madness it is._

* * *

_**Thank you to my lovely betas BirdOfOrk and OnceSnow.**_

_**According to OnceSnow, I need to hand out a bag at the end for all the feels. Do you agree? Disagree?**_

_**Review?**_


	7. Chapter 6: The Insurance Policy

_**Yes, I know it's been a while since I updated. A reminder that school holidays = less writing time for me (I prefer posting longer chapters, such as this one, too). I also have a big test coming so the next update might take a while as well because most of my free time should be spent studying for the next several weeks.**_

_**But there will be updates, so be sure to follow here or on AO3 (atonceuponsomechaos). And let me know what you think, because feedback (constructive or flailing) can help inspire the muse.**_

**_Much thanks to my lovely betas, OnceSnow and BirdofOrk. My writing wouldn't be half as good without their help._**

* * *

_So much for wowing the boys with my culinary skills._

Emma eyed the blackened mess still steaming in the sink, unable to figure out how exactly she'd screwed up breakfast.

_I've cooked this a million times. Maybe there is something wrong with the pans I bought. Or the stove isn't working._

_Or maybe you couldn't stop admiring how hot your roommate looked when his hair was still damp from showering and imagining how you'd like to join_—

"You killed the eggs, Mom."

"And quite viciously, I might add. Torturing them before lighting them on fire. I had no idea you were so ruthless, Swan."

Emma turned around, tossing a warning look at her son before fully focusing her glare on Killian, praying the flush in her cheeks would be written off as embarrassment over breakfast. "I'd like to see you do better, hotshot."

"Oh, I'm quite handy in the kitchen, love." He waved his fake hand at her, tossing her a wink which only made her face flame hotter. "However, I'm equally likely to burn down the place until you show me how that bloody contraption works and I doubt today is that day."

The thought of Killian cooking in the kitchen—their kitchen—twisted something inside of her; the domestic picture it painted hit far too close to… home.

_Just because you've never had a guy cook something for you before doesn't mean you should get warm fuzzies over your roommate cooking in his own kitchen. Get a grip._

"It's called a stove. And it must not be working right." She hadn't been _that _distracted by Killian. She'd practically learned to scramble eggs in her sleep when Henry was five—always adding a few drops of green food coloring when he'd been obsessed with _Green Eggs and Ham_ after reading it in school.

_Speaking of school..._

Emma picked up her phone from the counter and turned on the screen.

_8:14. Shit!_

"Dammit, we're late, kid. Grab your bag and jacket, we'll get bagels on the way."

"Yes!" Henry hopped off the barstool and bounded away.

Emma dragged her eyes to meet Killian's, unable to stop herself from taking in his exposed chest because he'd left half of his shirt's buttons undone. She tightened her grip on her phone, glad the counter remained between them so she couldn't slip her hand beneath the fabric of his shirt and feel the heat of his—

"See something you like, Swan?"

_Hell yeah._

_Focus._

Emma shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Eh, it's nothing I haven't seen before." She bit back a smile as his smirk vanished. "Look, I was going to go straight to work after dropping off Henry, but if you need me to bring something back…." Her words trailed off, unsure how to finish.

_You're worried about him._

_Am not._

_It's your first day apart since you met. _

_So?_

_You're afraid something will happen to him._

_I am n—_

"You don't have to worry about me, darling." His smile was soft, as though he could read her thoughts. _Open book, remember? _He cleared his throat and gave her another wink. "After all, I have managed to acquire sustenance for our mornings over the last three days without an incident."

Emma sighed. "Today was supposed to make up for that. I swear, I do know how to cook."

_Which is why you had to pick out eggshells every time you cracked an egg?_

_Something was obviously wrong with the eggs. It's probably a good thing we can't eat them now._

His eyes appeared bluer than usual_—how could I know that?—_as they peered over the rim of his coffee cup. Something within them made her feel transparent, like he could see every piece of her heart and soul—a prospect equally terrifying and reassuring.

_I am so screwed._

He finished sipping, his eyes never leaving hers. "You owe me nothing, love. However, if you insist upon 'making it up to me,' I'm quite sure I could suggest something far better than breakfast."

Emma's cheeks flushed again, but she forced herself to hold his gaze and placed her forearms on the countertop, knowing the position would display a hint of cleavage. She lowered her voice to give it the sultry quality she'd learned guys couldn't resist. "Oh really? What's that?"

_What the hell am I doing?_

_You really do suck at this friendship thing._

To her surprise, he mirrored her movements, though to his credit, his eyes only flicked downward once before meeting hers again. His voice was soft, filled with warmth and_—God help her—_the heat he wielded effortlessly. "I was thinking perhaps we could—" his tongue moistened his lips and Emma's breath hitched, waiting to see if he would cross the line "—have dinner."

It took her a few moments to realize what he'd said. "Dinner? That's what you want?" She squelched her disappointment, grateful that at least one of them remembered their discussions.

_What, you thought he'd suggest sex on the countertop?_

_I wouldn't have said yes. _

_You sure about that?_

A knowing smile spread across Killian's face. "There are a great many things I want, Swan, but given your desire to hold to our agreement, dinner seems the least likely to endanger those terms."

_Oh god_.

"But we've had dinner together every night. And lunch." And breakfast, when she didn't light it on fire.

"Is that a yes, then?"

"Mom, I'm ready to go!" Henry raced back into room, bolting straight for the front door. "Can I get a hot chocolate to go, too?"

"Sure." Emma nodded her head even though her son couldn't see, making it clear that her answer was for Killian as well. "It seems the least I can do after incinerating breakfast." She pushed off the counter, ready to follow Henry.

Her roommate's answering smile nearly made her stumble, as though her answer was the greatest thing in the world. "See you tonight, love."

No logical reason existed for the butterflies fluttering in her stomach—_again? really?_—it was just dinner.

_Wasn't it?_

_Assuming he doesn't get hit by a taxi today. Or a bus. Or a train car._

She donned her jacket, the glint of the giant manacle on the wall catching her eye as she rushed to join Henry.

_Too bad I can't lock him up again._

_Again?_

A sharp tug pulled on her arm. "Hurry up or I won't have time to finish my hot chocolate. You know they don't allow outside drinks at school."

Emma draped her arm over Henry's shoulders, shaking the ridiculous thought away. "Okay, kid." They exited the apartment and Emma said a quick prayer—_since when do I pray?_— to keep Killian out of danger.

For some reason, she had a feeling her roommate would need it.

* * *

Killian shifted on the stool, thankful the counter had hidden his reaction to Emma's banter.

_Bloody hell._

He'd always believed having Swan despise him was the worst torture imaginable.

_I obviously failed to consider the ramifications of being unable to capitalize upon her flirtations. _

Or, perhaps, his error lay in the simple fact he'd never dreamed a memory-altered Emma would even deign to flirt with him.

_It's not really her, it's those bloody compulsions she warned you about. None of it is real. Anything she feels for you is a lie. It's all part of this damn curse._

And that hurt most of all.

She didn't know him, that he was the Captain Hook the tales in this land were based upon—although the accuracy of the facts left something to be desired. Emma had no clue he'd lived several lifetimes in Neverland, how she'd nearly fed him to ogres, or that she'd spent most of their history pushing him away, not pulling him close.

Killian held nothing but the memories of a kiss—one he'd goaded her into no less—and one incredible night together to even hint the Emma he'd known had cared for him.

_But a part of her remembers you._

_If it was me she truly recalled, somehow I doubt she'd be quite so encouraging._

_She was… once._

_A night out of time, a one-time thing, born of desperation to rid herself of nightmares._

_It transformed into more than that._

_Did it? I'm finding it difficult to decipher the difference between truth and illusion in this life. _

_No, you're afraid. Afraid you'll give up and choose this life over the one you know to be true. The temptation to live a life of lies grows stronger with every smile, every laugh, and every time she touches you. _

He slammed his fist onto the counter, welcoming the sting. He could not—would not—succumb to the curse's trickery. It didn't matter that he'd fallen for her—the new Swan—just as surely as he had for the original, more guarded Emma; that he would, in effect, destroy the person she was now in favor of who she had been.

_Oh please, will you cease with the whining and yearning and do something._

Damn, just what he needed right now.

Killian groaned, rubbing his forehead and wishing the Evil Queen would leave him in peace. "Like what, tell her the truth?"

The buzzing noise—it always lurked, a constant warning he filtered out most of the time—grew to a skull-shattering level and he doubled over with pain.

_Bloody—_

_Now now, Captain. You know that's against the rules. You have to play the game or we'll all lose. _

"I'm not one of your damn chess pieces, your Majesty. Bugger off."

The buzzing continued to crescendo, knifing through his brain. Killian collapsed to the floor in agony, yet the Queen's voice magically remained audible through the deafening sound.

_You disappoint me, Hook. I'm the reason Miss Swan allowed you into this life. Without me, you'd either be locked up for stalking, or tossing doe-eyed looks from a distance. It hardly seems too much to ask you to keep your mouth shut and continue the charade._

The buzzing quieted slightly, giving Killian the ability to think and move again. "To what purpose?"

_Why to protect Henry, of course. _

"You don't need to force me to watch over the lad." Killian had grown fond of the boy during their brief acquaintance and, with the exception of Liam, Henry carried the blood of every person Killian had ever loved. "I'd give my life for him."

The silence was instantaneous, and Killian slowly stood up, rubbing his temple, wary of the noise returning.

_Tell her the truth_—_magic exists and she is the Savior, the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming_—_and I doubt she will allow you anywhere near her or Henry ever again._

"She needs to remember." _I promised to reunite her with family._

_That's not possible. They are gone. I am gone. This life is all that remains._

"What the—"

Killian scrambled to make sense of the words, fully aware he stood alone in the apartment and to any outsider, he'd appear to be talking to himself. _Like I've lost my damn mind._ "I beg your pardon, your Majesty, or whatever the bloody hell you are, but I don't believe that. I've discovered over the centuries almost nothing is truly impossible."

A laugh echoed in his head. _Go ahead and try, Captain. Just make sure during your impossible quest you keep watch over my son and refrain from doing anything that might ruin Emma's willingness to play house with you. _

Killian ran his fingers through his hair, the throbbing in his skull the only evidence this wasn't a figment of his imagination. "What the bloody hell are you, anyway?"

Another cackle of laughter. _I am an insurance policy to prevent you from screwing up this life I've obviously gone to great pains to create._

"Where are the rest of you? Her family? Why am I missing pieces of my memory but recall others? Do you know what curse was cast?"

_Curse? You're not under a curse, Captain. I'd detect it if you were._

"Then where is her family and why have Emma's memories been altered while mine are incomplete?"

_How should I know where those two idiots are? Or did you mean that... person? Not that it matters; they aren't my problem. I only know Miss Swan was given happy memories to ensure Henry's future and that I am to do whatever it takes to secure your place at his side. _

"Wonderful. You're even more clueless than I am." He paused. "Wait, did you say whatever it takes? Are you the one giving Emma those damn compulsions?"

_I have no control over Miss Swan and only exist in your mind. I'm sure you've noticed I have a most unpleasant method at my disposal if you try anything stupid. Most of the time I don't care what the hell you do._

Killian scratched the back of his neck, his mind turning over the newly acquired pieces to—if the Evil Queen's voice spoke the truth—an entirely different puzzle than what he'd thought.

_If it's not a curse, why was I thinking about a curse before this life began? Is nothing but a spell at work? _

He didn't possess enough pieces to guess what this new puzzle was, but he knew of one way to gather more. Killian finished his coffee and donned his long coat before exiting the apartment—_don't forget to lock it_. He eyed the elevator suspiciously—he didn't mind it when Swan or the boy rode with him, but just looking at the contraption made his ribs and leg hurt for no damn reason—and took the stairs to the main floor. He saluted the uniformed gentleman who watched the doors, walked outside and waved his arm as he'd seen Swan do.

A yellow vehicle slowed in front of him and a grin spread across his face.

_At least I'm getting the hang of this city._

He opened the transport's door, settling in the back. "89 Wooster Street, mate."

* * *

The neighborhood and the building posed a striking contrast to where Killian lived with Emma and Henry, though neither had changed since his previous visit.

_However long ago that happened to be._

_Months? Weeks?_

"More like a damn lifetime," he said as he opened the outside door and walked inside, the memories of the last time he'd entered quite clear.

_Rage. Hate. Revenge flowing through his veins. Not even recognizing Swan, only seeing a final obstacle to his vengeance and quickly removing it from his path. The sweet satisfaction of stabbing the Crocodile with his hook. Savoring the fear on the Dark One's face as he prepared to make good on his vow from long ago._

_Then pain, the world going black. Awakening in cold dark room and not caring if he ever escaped, for though he hadn't witnessed the glory of the Crocodile's last breath, Killian had coated his hook in the poison dreamshade and no magic in this world could save the demon now. _

_I was obviously quite mistaken in that respect._

The bleak entry had not changed either, the black and white tiles and walls dingy with grime, the security gate resembling the entrance to a brig instead of a purposefully chosen dwelling.

_Shoving the Crocodile into the gate, rendered helpless without his magic_—

Killian shook his head, having no wish to relive this particular memory, though the vividness of it reduced his doubt that the memories he did possess had been changed.

_Thank goodness for small favors._

He focused on the panel attached to the gate, a communication system similar to that at his own apartment. He scanned the names, searching for one he recognized, none of them familiar.

_Perhaps Bae also had his memories altered._

_Or he's wherever Swan's family has gone._

He took a deep breath, calling forth his few observations of the man Bae had become and blending them with those of the boy he'd loved.

_Hurt and pain consumed the lad, left by the Crocodile's abandonment. He claimed his only family was called "the Darlings". _

Bae would not have wanted his father to find him and would never post his location for anyone to read.

Killian pressed his finger on the button for apartment 407, the name curiously left blank compared to all of the others. He waited for a response before pressing the button again.

_Perhaps he is not at home._

_Or does he no longer live here?_

Not willing to wait to see Bae return—_if he ever returned_—Killian tried a new tactic, and pressed another button, then another, until finally a "Yes?" echoed over the device.

"I have a package for you." He'd heard the phrase often enough over the last few days as items had arrived for his apartment.

The device buzzed and Killian opened the gate, unsure what awaited him on the other side.

* * *

The smell of the place slammed into Killian and he covered his nose with his arm. It was sickly sweet, the scent of something rotten, and he uttered a quick prayer that Baelfire himself was not the source.

He did a quick search—the dwelling was small and the entirety of it would fit into the main living area of Killian's shared apartment—and sighed with relief when he found it devoid of any bodies, living or dead.

_Thank you._

He grew accustomed to the smell—something one had to learn when sailing in close quarters with those who did not have his affinity for bathing—and took a closer look.

A layer of dust coated every surface, lending an air of abandonment to the place. A sinking sensation settled in Killian, the fervent hope he'd not known he carried slowly dying. Why was he in this land and Bae was not?

_Perhaps he is but moved to a new location. This place leaves a great deal to be desired and feels more like a hideout than a home._

_Perhaps._

A rag drenched in blood rested on a hideous couch.

Was it Bae's blood? Was he out there, injured? Or did it belong to the Crocodile?

Killian discovered the source of the wretched smell: spoiled food. The—_what was it called?_—refrigerator did not contain much—_thank god_—but what it did hold had long ago ceased to be edible. Most of it no longer even resembled food.

Vowing to rid the place of the offending items before he left, Killian continued searching for anything useful. The decor—if it could be called that—revealed nothing. A circle hung in one window, the webbing within much like a spider's, with strands of beads and feathers below it. The placement seemed important somehow, but Killian had no idea the point of such a thing. The desk held a few writing utensils and what appeared to be an antiquated talking phone, but little else.

It wasn't until his gaze landed on a pile of paper on the short table by the couch that he found anything of use.

Papers, all addressed to Neal Cassidy—Bae's chosen name in this world—labeled with this address.

_Emma handing him a key, writing "Swan/Jones" in the metal box—a mailbox. "This is where we pick up our mail. It'll be mostly junk and bills. Christmas cards around the holidays."_

_At least I know I have the correct apartment._

He wondered what information lay inside, but the papers were sealed. Opening them would be bad form and unlikely to gain him any pertinent information—the top piece carried far more dust than would accumulate during the four days Killian had spent with the memory-altered Emma. If Bae—_Neal_—was in this world, he no longer lived at this location.

Wanting to be thorough, Killian turned over the papers, seeking a clue, a note. Anything.

He saw it on his third pass.

"I'll be damned." Each packet carried a mark on the top right corner, though the pattern varied on each piece. However, embedded into each one was a recognizable sequence of letters and numbers: a month, a day, and a year. All of dates were within a sennight of one another.

_Oh for heaven's sake, call it a week. You're showing your age, pirate._

Killian filed away the comment for later, far too excited to deal with the voice.

He could be wrong but the evidence spoke otherwise; the decaying food, the dust, and the bloody rag all contributed to the idea that Bae had not been here since the day Killian had stabbed the Crocodile. The papers had likely arrived shortly before or during Rumplestiltskin's visit. He reached into one of his coat pockets, pulling out his cell phone and tapping on the primary button. The screen lit up, displaying the date.

Less than a month had transpired since the marked dates.

_Could I have changed so much in so little time? _

He'd gone from a man driven by vengeance, willing to do anything to enact his revenge on Rumplestiltskin, to willingly allowing the demon aboard his ship. What the bloody hell had happened after the dark, bumpy ride from New York to… somewhere?

Removing the days spent in Neverland—and the very memorable time spent fleeing that land—Killian calculated only fifteen to twenty days remained unaccounted for in his memories.

_Plus however long passed between Cora opening the portal with the restored bean in the Enchanted Forest and sailing to New York on the Jolly Roger._

He'd lived for over two centuries, the missing time a mere blink in his life, yet it hid life-changing secrets. He had no clue if a single major event caused it—like the deaths of Liam and Milah—or many small ones.

_The more knowledge I acquire about what has befallen Swan, the boy, and myself, the less I appear to know._

The soft click of a latch broke into his thoughts. Mere moments later the doorway filled with a short, portly man who clearly regarded hygiene as optional. Killian forced himself to relax and appear as unthreatening as possible while the man studied him with a glare.

_Who the bloody hell is this?_

The man appeared to share Killian's sentiments, maneuvering his body into an authoritative stance. "Who the hell are you?"

Killian slid into his gentleman persona, his instincts telling him the man had far more reason to be in Neal's apartment than he did. "Pardon me. Where are my manners? We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Killian Jones." Killian held out his hand and the man's countenance calmed slightly, though he did attempt to crush Killian's hand with his answering grip.

"Edward Adams. I manage this building." His nose wrinkled, as if the room's odor finally permeated the man's own stench. "There've been complaints about the smell coming from this apartment and the rent is late. Thought somebody might've died in here." Adams perused the apartment, suspicion spreading over his features. "Where's Cassidy?"

_That's what I would like to know._

Confessing such would not do, however, and likely only lead to Adams wondering why Killian was in the apartment. "Detained, I'm afraid. On business. Poor man. He hadn't planned on being gone this long and asked me to clean up the place and care for any delinquent accounts."

At the mention of the accounts, the man's countenance improved. "Well, why didn't you say so? Get rid of whatever stinks and come to apartment 203 when you're done." Adams waved an envelope in his hand. "Cassidy's lucky you showed up when you did."

_What is that supposed to mean?_

Killian painted a grin on his face, giving the man a nod. "Oh really?"

The man snorted and a rancid belch followed. "Just in case he wasn't the one stinking up the place, I have his eviction notice here." Adams gestured with the envelope again, giving Killian a shrewd look. "But as long as you take care of it before you leave…"

"Consider it done, mate. Now if you'll excuse me, I have the task of ridding this domicile of its unfortunate odor."

_Including Adams._

"Apartment 203. Don't forget. Or I'll be back." The warning was quite clear.

Killian didn't bother to respond to the threat, merely raising a brow at the man for daring to challenge his honor, before twisting on his heel and walking to the refrigerator. He opened the door—the wave of decay slamming into him would have made most men lose their stomach contents, but most had not captained a pirate ship for centuries—and waited.

Mere moments later he heard the muffled curse of Adams, footsteps, and the door opening and slamming shut.

Killian quickly closed the refrigerator and hurried to the nearby window, finding the lock and twisting it. The window slid open easily and Killian climbed onto the metal balcony, gasping the city air like a man rescued from the sea.

_Bloody hell._

Bae—_Neal_—had obviously left in a hurry, with no definite plans to return.

_Having his father stabbed with poison might have had something to do with it._

If he'd interpreted his conversation with Adams correctly, Neal's desperation and lack of foresight would have rendered him homeless in a scant amount of time, if not for Killian's precipitous arrival.

_If Bae is lost to this world, does it really matter?_

_Aye, it does._

Had he delayed another week or longer, he'd have potentially lost the only reminder he had—other than himself—to jog Emma's memory.

_And when do you plan to do that, Hook? Tomorrow? Next week? Or are you waiting for her to return your pining looks because you're worried she still has feelings for… that person?_

"Bugger off, your Majesty."

He hadn't a damn clue when the opportune moment would arrive to inform Emma about this place—if ever—but his gut told him this Emma, as well as the one he'd known, would require more than mere words to believe in all she'd forgotten.

_You think a bloody cloth, dust, and some old mail will convince her that fairy tales are real? I had no idea you were so delusional, Captain._

Killian sighed, hating the truth in her words. Still, Swan had been here at least once. It might be enough.

The cackling of laughter filled his mind and he shook his head, trying to clear it. He finally gave up—the laughter refused to cease—and ducked back into the apartment, the stench of the place the lesser of the evils.

He needed to dispose of the rotten food, visit Adams, and th—

"What the—" Out of the corner of his eye, a vivid red caught his attention—the color standing out in the apartment. It rested on another small table on the edge of the second room, cloaked in the shadow of the grim interior. Somehow he'd missed it on his first inspection, far more concerned with discovering Bae's body. He hurried closer, gently lifting the bright material.

It was a strap of some sort, attached to an oddly shaped device that looked vaguely familiar. It took Killian a moment to realize it resembled the items worn around necks of people Swan had called "tourists" while they had been out shopping. He struggled to find the proper word for the device when the brown inscription grabbed his notice.

_Henry_.

The laughter abruptly quieted.

Killian couldn't stop the rush of hope filling him at the string of letters, the first—and only—tangible proof he'd found in this world to lend credence to his tale. It also reassured him, again, that the life he remembered had been real, left unaltered somehow but for the missing pieces.

He carefully rearranged the strap and its item the way he'd found them, not wanting to disrupt it further. He turned—a noticeable bounce to his step despite the unpleasant task of cleaning before him—his mind already calculating, discarding, and re-calculating the ideal time and method to reveal the truth to Swan.

Not yet—he required more answers first—but hopefully soon.

Soon he would have his Swan back.

_And you'll destroy the happy one I worked so hard to create. You will ruin her, Hook._

"It is a fake happiness, built on magical nonsense. Emma would want to know the truth."

_Are you so sure about that, pirate?_

The last memory he recalled before beginning this fake life replayed in his mind: a vow to reunite Swan with her family, to tell her the truth.

_You also told her you loved her. You don't think that will make things awkward?_

Killian scratched behind his ear, his face heating with a slight flush as he searched for a way to dispose of the refrigerator's contents. "A mere vocalization of what I demonstrated countless times by my actions. I'll gladly deal with any consequence if it means she is restored to her true self."

_Even if she hates you for popping her happy bubble?_

"Aye, even then." He finally located a bag to throw the spoiled food away, wishing like hell there was a way to remove the bloody voice from his head along with the rubbish.

_She will hate you._

Killian took a deep breath before opening the refrigerator door, determined to ignore the voice.

Unable to stop the final thought from escaping.

_Not as much as I'll hate myself for playing the bloody hero. At least her feelings will be genuine. It will have to be enough._

* * *

_**A/N: The more one tries to decipher the mess of the Once Upon a Time timeline, the more hopelessly muddled it becomes. Due to this, I have had to take certain liberties and make assumptions based on weather shown in the show, tweets by Adam and Eddie, actual holidays shown in the show, and paired it with the fact that time cannot move backward (we are pre-time travel in this story), even though the time period between "Skin Deep" (1x12, which was Valentine's Day, 2012) and season 4A (which is supposedly in early 2013 before "Frozen" was released and tweeted by A&amp;E as the "real" time period) is almost zero, but must include all events from 1x13 through 3x11 ("Going Home", when this fic began), PLUS a missing YEAR. So yeah, just suspend disbelief and go with it because the math on this show is enough to give anyone a migraine (and I *like* math). **_

**So what did you think? I love feedback.**


	8. Chapter 7: Damn Good Pizza

_**A/N:**__ As you know, the characters are not mine, I just channel them. As this fic follows most of the show's canon (minus a few key changes), some dialogue is not mine, but Once Upon a Time's._

* * *

The huge "311" of her apartment greeted her and Emma sighed in relief.

_Home_.

Too tired to analyze how it felt like home after only a week when her old place never had, Emma twisted her key in the lock, wincing at the loud click in the silent hallway. She entered carefully, her way lit by a single kitchen light, the bolt echoing even louder as she locked the door. Her back ached as she pulled off one muddy boot and then the other. She tiptoed into the kitchen, grimacing with each step as her body protested movement.

_Quiet. The last thing I need is to wake up Henry or Killian and—_

"Swan."

Emma froze in place, eyes tracking to the familiar form draped in shadows on his couch. She hadn't missed the tension his tone. "Killian."

_You dumped your son on him, a stranger, for three days. Of course he's upset._

_This is it. This is when he leaves._

_Stupid stupid stupid._

_I never should have said yes to that skip._

_It was supposed to be easy. A few hours at most._

_I've ruined everything._

"I can explain." She walked toward him, her movements slow, trying to hide how much each step hurt.

"Bloody hell." Killian must have finally gotten a good look at her because he rose from the couch and quickly closed the distance between them. His blue eyes caught the light and she marveled as the tension dissipated into something far more powerful and terrifying.

_How can he look at me that way? _

_I'm coated in mud and haven't showered in two days._

_Neal never looked at me like that._

Killian stopped just a foot away, his hand reaching for her, hesitating as if unsure of what to do before he gently swiped a lock of her filthy hair behind her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Emma's knees trembled, though she didn't know whether it was from the concern on his face, his close proximity, or the fact her entire body hurt. She stomped down the urge to collapse into his arms because, _dammit_, she couldn't remember ever being this tired.

_Pretty sure friends don't do that._

_I'd probably ruin his favorite plunging neckline._

She opened her mouth to answer with her usual "I'm fine," but paused. After forcing him to unexpectedly take care of her son for three days, she couldn't lie to him. "I've been better."

He gave her what Emma thought of as his "open book" stare, his gaze somehow penetrating the nonchalant exterior she was attempting to project.

_This is so not fair._

Satisfied at whatever he read beneath the surface, he quirked an eyebrow at her. "Has anyone ever informed you that you possess a powerful propensity for the dramatic understatement?"

It started low in her belly, a rumble that had nothing to do with the gnawing hunger. It rolled through Emma, her body shaking silently until a burst of laughter escaped. She enjoyed the brief moment of levity, the stress of the last few days melting away.

Then she doubled over in pain, her body resenting the tightened muscles. "That must be why it hurts when I laugh."

"Bloody—" Killian didn't touch her—she could see the worry in his eyes, not wanting to cause any more pain. "How can I help, love?"

_You can stop being so damn perceptive._

_And funny._

_And sweet._

_And for heaven's sake, stop looking at me like that or I'll do something really, really stupid._

_Not that I can tell him these things._

Emma's stomach rumbled at her, giving her an easy answer. "I don't suppose you have any food in the fridge?" While she was sure Killian hadn't let Henry starve—Henry's texts and her conversations with Killian had assured her they were just fine, at least before her phone had met a giant mud puddle and had put her out of communication for the last twelve hours—she also assumed most of the food was takeout and at 3 A.M., even that was hard to come by in New York.

Killian gave her a little nod along with one of those soft smiles—the kind that always put the damn butterflies in her stomach. "Aye. The lad insisted on ordering pizza tonight and we requested extra in case you—" He swallowed hard, breaking eye contact and taking a step back. She tried to track the various emotions that crossed his face before the amicable mask from the day they met covered them. "Since I doubt you've intentionally sought to transform your jacket from red to black through a vigorous application of mud, perhaps you wish to shower while I warm your food?"

_Who the hell talks like that?_

_You like it._

_I do n—_

_Okay fine, maybe a little._

_A shower does sound heavenly._

_Wait, did he say he was going to—_

"You aren't going to build a fire in our living room, are you?" The words escaped before she had a chance to think.

_The guy offers you food and you insult him? I'm sure he knows how to use an oven._

_But he barely knew what one was a week ago._

_Are you trying to get rid of him? He was being nice!_

"Sorry, I—"

"It's quite alright, love." _Damn, he really needs to stop smiling like that._ "Your boy sufficiently demonstrated how to use some of the tools in our kitchen. I'm quite sure I can manage without setting the place ablaze."

Emma stood there, mouth agape, unable to hide her surprise. _Why does it feel like I've been gone three years and not three days?_

_Maybe because he's offering to take care of you like he's been here for years. And he didn't know what a cell phone or a dishwasher was when he moved in a week ago._

_When was the last time someone other than Henry gave a shit?_

_No! Do not cry. Do not cry. Do NOT—_

"Swan?"

"Fine. I mean great. I mean—" she took a deep breath, trying to rein in the emotions she lacked the energy to hide. Not that it seemed to do any good where Killian was concerned. She needed to get away before she completely broke down. She forced a smile, her eyes focused on the intricate buttons of his shirt. "I'm just going to go shower now." She turned and shuffled away, certain she sensed the weight of his gaze following her.

_Aren't you forgetting something?_

_Oh. Yeah._

She paused, not bothering to turn around, afraid she'd collapse into a sobbing heap if she met his eyes. "Food would be great, Jones."

She swore she heard a quiet "as you wish" as she left the room.

* * *

The hot shower was pure bliss. It soothed the aching muscles while removing two days' worth of grime and the thick remnants of unintentional mud wrestling.

_And to think, some people pay to have mud wrapped around them._

Her body still hurt and she could see the early signs of bruising peppering her skin where the ground and the two hundred-plus pound skip she'd tackled had joined forces. Given how it hurt to breathe, she'd barely escaped cracking her ribs or worse.

She carefully slipped into a set of long sleeved pajamas—no reason to flaunt her stupidity to Killian by showing off the bruises—the movement reminding her she would be paying for the collar in more ways than one, likely for the next week.

_Not my brightest move._

If the neighborhood busybody hadn't called the cops on her 'suspicious' behavior and inadvertently given her backup, the guy probably would have fled to Canada where she couldn't follow.

_But he didn't. You got the guy. It all worked out. _

_If you can call having to spend half of the paycheck on the cost of tracking the guy plus buying a new cell phone "working out". _

Okay, maybe in hindsight she should have passed the skip off to someone else once she tracked him into Massachusetts. By New Hampshire she was already too invested and when he crossed the border of Maine, Emma took it as a personal challenge not to let the scumbag get away.

_The price of playing the hero._

Her hair was damp on her shoulders, but she lacked the stamina to do more than brush the tangles free and leave it to dry loose. Lifting a hair dryer was out of the question.

Emma's bed begged her to collapse into its softness for the next year or so, but the heavenly scent of pizza and the insistent rumble of her stomach demanded she seek out the source.

And it would be rude to stand up her roommate when she owed him—big time—for the last few days.

Giving her bed one last longing look, Emma made her way back to the kitchen, trying to move as little as possible in the process.

Killian stood in the shadows by the window again, his back turned. An odd click sounded before he turned around. His gaze traveled her body and while it possessed more of a clinical quality—like how she'd check Henry for injuries—her skin heated under the intensity of it.

Her stomach chose that moment to elicit a loud growl and Killian raised an eyebrow at her. "If the lady insists." The tender smile that followed—

_Shit, that smile..._

It made her want things. With him. Stirring up forgotten dreams of finding Tallahassee.

_Only he isn't Neal. And Manhattan isn't in Florida._

It wasn't logical—she'd barely known Killian a week and she'd been gone for almost half of it.

_Or maybe it makes perfect sense._

_He cared for Henry while I was away and has yet to complain. Henry couldn't stop gushing the guy's praises every time we talked. He's the first guy I've even allowed to meet Henry, much less live with us._

_You know the real reason. It's why when he smiles like that you start dreaming of happy endings._

_Dammit, I can't help it! He looks at me like I not only matter, but I'm somehow the most important person on the planet. It isn't true, can't be true after only a few days but..._

After a childhood of rejection and of being unwanted and unneeded until Henry, it was a heady combination.

The thunk of a mug being placed on the kitchen table snapped her out of her reverie. Emma's senses switched on as the tantalizing aroma of pizza and chocolate wafted over her, her mouthing watering in response. Her eyes took in the surprisingly elegant place setting—complete with napkin and single lit candle—and her roommate's questioning expression. The silence wrapped around them, so sharp, only their breathing disturbed it.

_It was only pizza and hot chocolate but…_

_When did he learn to make hot chocolate?_

"I hope the drink is to your liking, love. I've only recently earned your son's approval on the concoction."

_Is he a mind reader now, too?_

Afraid to look at him—_too much_—she turned her attention to the chair, gripping the cool wood and pulling it back, seating herself. The cinnamon container appeared before her and the ringed fingers caught her eye, unable to stop following them when they retreated and scratched the back of Killian's neck.

_Is he... nervous?_

"I wasn't certain how much cinnamon to apply and felt it best to leave it in your lovely hands." His eyes darted around, looking anywhere but at her, giving her a rare chance to study him.

He still oozed sex appeal without trying—god help her if he ever decided to actually pursue more than friendship—but something about him was off tonight.

_More off than being coated in mud?_

_Touché._

Either Killian's guy liner had uncharacteristically smudged or the dark circles around his eyes meant he'd slept about as well as she had these last few days. His hair—_how the hell did I not notice his hair before now?_—stuck up in random directions, although instead of appearing like a bad case of bedhead it...

_Sex hair. Of course the opposite of Killian having his hair perfectly in place was sex hair._

_You don't think he had sex while you were gone, do you?_

_As long as it wasn't here he can do what he likes._

_Liar._

_Am not._

_Just the idea of him with someone else is making you jealous._

Slamming a lid on those thoughts—_I am not jealous_—she realized Killian's attention was now focused fully on her again.

The butterflies returned, the look on his face causing Emma to forget whatever she'd been about to do.

_You should probably tell him "thank you."_

"Thank you. For dinner. And Henry. And—" Why was she so awkward all of a sudden?

"Is this not what friends do, darling? Although," he scratched the back of his neck again, "I admit I'm quite curious to know if I failed or succeeded in winning you over with my recently acquired culinary skills."

This time it was her turn to raise an eyebrow. "You mean as opposed to how I, what did you say, "tortured the eggs?" Was their last meal together really only three days ago?

"Ah, but I did not construct this meal from the start as you did. I merely warmed something a chef prepared and added heated milk to a powdery substance." He winked at her, leaning in for a conspiratorial whisper. "The lad assures me that is the secret, to use milk and not water."

Emma couldn't stop her smile and obligingly added some cinnamon before taking a careful sip of her hot chocolate, expecting the worst.

_Damn…_

"This is really good. Seriously good." It held a tiny hint of something different. It almost tasted like…. "Rum? Did you spike my hot chocolate?"

Killian had the audacity to wink at her again. "Your son has his secret ingredients, I have my own." He gave her a soft smile. "Don't worry, I don't put any in the lad's and there's only a splash in yours." He nodded over to the kitchen counter where she saw another plate of pizza and another mug. "Mine is a bit… stronger."

"Keeping the good stuff for yourself?" Emma tried to glare at him, hiding her smile as she took another sip.

"My rum is your rum, remember? I'm merely trying to avoid the ramifications of what happens when your stomach contains more rum than food."

"Good point." The last thing Emma needed was to spend what was left of the night bent over the toilet. Her stomach rumbled another protest. She quickly picked up a slice and couldn't stop the moan of pleasure from escaping as she bit into it. The slice was gone before she noticed Killian just standing there, watching her with an indescribable look on his face. "What? Do I have sauce on my chin or something?"

He shook his head, biting his lip. "No, you don't." He turned away and moved to the kitchen counter, keeping his back turned. "I'll leave you to your meal."

_Wait… what?_

_What just happened?_

"Didn't you make yourself a plate?"

He still didn't face her but she heard the mug move and his swallow as he took a drink. "Aye. I lacked an appetite earlier and suddenly found myself quite famished."

_The truth… but not all of it._

"And what, you're going to hide in your room and eat it?"

"I know you're exhausted. I thought you might want to be alone."

_What isn't he telling me?_

It's true, she'd hoped everyone was asleep when she arrived, mostly because she'd been in no state to face anyone. The hot shower had gone a long way toward making her feel human, even if her whole body still hurt. Yes, she was tired but…

_You missed him._

_I missed Henry. And conversation. Three days with just myself for company will do that._

_You. Missed. Him._

_Oh, fine. Maybe a little._

_Tell him._

"I missed our conversations while I was gone." The words blurted out before she could reconsider them. They earned her a glance over his shoulder, his neck twisted just enough she could see his usual eyebrow quirk. "If you're going to eat, you might as well keep me company. Besides," she bestowed what she hoped was her most welcoming smile, "not only is this your home too and you have every right to eat in our kitchen, but I did sort of promise you I'd eat dinner with you."

"Aye, that you did. I had the impression you intended to cook that meal."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Obviously fate had other plans. Careful, Jones. Keep being all domestic and I might have to insist you do all the cooking."

She watched as Killian brought first his mug, then his plate to the table. It took her a moment to recall why he'd taken two trips.

_One hand, remember?_

He settled in the chair in front of her, laying his left arm upon the table and raising his mug into a toasting position as he leaned forward. She grabbed her hot chocolate and mimicked his positioning, curious what he'd say.

"To your safe return and our future domestic endeavors." His warmth of his voice, the quiet sincerity of his expression sent a surge of heat through Emma's body that had nothing to do with the hot chocolate she downed after clicking their cups together.

_Oh my—_

_He's just being nice. A good friend. Don't read anything into it. And don't do anything—_

Emma reached out with her right hand, placing it upon the wrist of Killian's bad hand. Her fingers brushed over something hard—a brace of some sort?—before traveling past it to find the warmth seeping through the thin material of his shirt. The muscles beneath tightened and she wanted to keep going, following the rigid lines up his arm until she reached the open skin of his chest and—

"Swan?"

—_stupid._

His voice and the table stopped her from following the impulse, the hard edge as she leaned into it bringing her back to her senses. The ache of her body flooded back and she snatched her hand away.

_Why the hell did I do that?_

_What if he doesn't like people touching his injury? What if I just insulted him? What if he thinks I'm repulsed by it?_

_What if he sees through it all and knows what you really wanted to do?_

_I forgot how strong these compulsions are._

Emma couldn't quite meet Killian's eyes, afraid of what she might see in them. "Sorry about that, I just... I meant to... I—" _You can do this._ "—I wanted to thank you. Again. For everything. I didn't mean to just dump my son on you for three days. I know it probably pissed you off and—"

"I'm not angry, love. I offered to care for him, as you recall."

_If he isn't angry does that mean… he was worried about me?_

_Or worried he'd be stuck with Henry if you didn't come back._

"Yeah, but that was for one night. Not three days."

"I'm quite certain I agreed to continue the care each day when you called." She could feel his stare, still afraid to meet it. "What question are you really trying to ask?"

She swallowed and clutched her mug like it was a lifeline, needing to do something with her hands because the urge to touch him remained strong. "You were upset when I got home. I thought you might—"

_Leave me. _

Emma couldn't finish the sentence, aware suddenly of how ridiculous her worries seemed considering the man was locked into a year-long lease agreement.

The ringed fingers came into view again, spread wide and open, an offering for her to thread her fingers between them.

She didn't think. She just released her grip on the mug and answered, sliding her fingers between, his warm skin a contrast to the cool metal of the rings.

_Since when do you hold hands? _

"Emma?" Her name wasn't a question so much as request, the gentle squeeze of his hand adding encouragement to the words she heard that he didn't say.

_Look at me._

Emma finally did, unprepared for the tenderness in his gaze and how her pulse raced in response.

"There are few certainties in this world, but know this: I'll not abandon you, Swan. Or the lad. You're stuck with me as long as you'll tolerate my presence."

_Truth._

_Just because you believe something is true, doesn't make it real._

_But that look… it's almost like… he missed me._

"Why?" She almost cringed at her question, her voice sounding tiny and lost.

His thumb caressed the outside of her palm, the action more comforting than sexual but—like so many things with Killian—her body took it for more, craved more.

_His tongue tracing the lines of hand, drawing her thumb into his mouth as he—_

_Where did that come from?_

A small smile curled his lips. "I don't mean to upset you, Emma, but I think we make quite the team."

The words triggered her déjà vu, but she couldn't place why they'd be familiar. A deeper meaning hid behind the words, refusing to show itself, and she finally gave up, too tired to fight for the answer.

Killian nodded as if they'd carried on a silent conversation. His smile transformed to a wistful one, a soft squeeze from his hand and the brush of his thumb over her skin given before he slid his grasp from hers.

She already missed it.

The hand went to scratch the back of his neck again before he gestured at her plate. "Please, eat up before it gets cold, darling. I'm not entirely certain the fare would hold up to another round in the oven."

Emma took a bite—still warm and delicious. He watched her for a moment before doing the same and she swore his eyes rolled back in his head in enjoyment.

He really loved pizza.

_She circled her tongue around the tip of him, his eyes rolling back, the lids nearly closing, opened just enough for his searing gaze to light her skin on fire as his groan reverberated through her—_

_By all that is ho_—

The moan escaping had nothing to do with pizza this time, but when his eyes whipped to meet hers she couldn't help but grin. "That's damn good pizza."

Heat flared in his gaze. "Anything to bring you pleasure, Swan."

_Holy hell._

* * *

_Bloody hell._

* * *

_**Many thanks to OnceSnow and BirdofOrk for being fabulous betas.**_

_**Review? I love constructive feedback. What worked, what didn't? What parts causing squeeing or feels or did you want to throw something at the screen?**_


	9. Chapter 8: Fashion Advice

_**A/N: I just can't with these two. Probably my favorite chapter so far.**_

* * *

"If I was trying to give the impression of a vulnerable girl who would sleep with you on the first date and then be naive enough to show you where I kept my life savings so you could steal it, would the red or the black dress work better?"

_What the bloody hell..._

Quite certain Killian had heard her incorrectly—he'd been studying a map on his phone, plotting tomorrow's reconnaissance—he glanced up and found Emma standing at the entrance of the hallway holding two dresses. She wore a simple robe that covered more than her usual clothing and curls bounced on the fabric as she tilted her head in question.

_Damn, she was beautiful_.

"Killian? The red or the black?" Impatience laced her tone as she dangled the dresses.

"I rather doubt anyone could mistake you as naive, love."

"You're not helping." She glared at him.

_Surely she did not intend to have a "date" with someone?_

_Since when does courting involve inviting someone to steal from you?_

_Ask and find out._

He opened his arms in supplication. "Perhaps if you told me why you wish to convey that particular impression, I might be of more assistance."

"I have a date with some asshole who seduced at least two women, ran off with their money before the sheets cooled off, and then decided to skip bail. I need to look his type."

Killian sent a silent prayer of thanks to anyone who might be listening.

"So your intent is not to seduce so much as lure the bastard into a trap?"

"Exactly."

_Bloody brilliant woman._

He sighed, pretending to be annoyed. "Bring the dresses closer, lass, and let me have a look."

Emma obliged, coming over to his couch and pausing several feet in front of him. First she held the red one in front of her, then the black, giving him a questioning look. "What do you think?"

_You would likely offer to punch me in the face if you knew my answer._

"I doubt any man could resist you if you showed up in a burlap sackcloth, much less in garments designed to show off all of your… attributes." He smirked, using it as cover as he shifted on the couch, the idea of her donning either option setting his blood aflame.

_And it's for another man… for a ruse, but still..._

"Again, not helping." She rolled her eyes. "I don't know why I bothered." She began flouncing away—there was no other word for it, her bare feet stomping upon the floor in an overdramatic pique.

He'd not seen this side of her yet and he wondered if the old Emma had possessed it at all.

_Aye, she did—leaving you tied to a tree for ogres—she merely downplayed the dramatic stomping. She certainly has a flair for seeking answers._

"Swan, hold on." He stood from the couch, his long strides quickly eliminating the distance between them, hoping she was distracted enough not to notice his reaction to her.

She paused and slowly turned, giving Killian a sardonic look that was ruined by the hint of mirth seeping through it.

_Damn_.

Yet another small moment blindsiding him and his feelings for her threatened to overwhelm him. Killian could handle loving her—that was not the issue—but he needed...

_I need her to see me. The real me. If only for a minute._

_You don't even know who you are anymore._

_I'm a man who'd go to the ends of the world for her._

_You're jealous, mate. _

_I'm damned no matter what I do. Perhaps it's time to show her I'm a pirate._

He shifted the mask he wore often over the last few weeks—the benign, unthreatening roommate persona he could now slide into as quickly as his Captain one—and allowed some of what he felt to slip through.

He saw the change in her immediately. The annoyed countenance fled as uncertainty filled her eyes. His final steps were purposeful, the hunter stalking his prey, and she faltered, taking a few steps back until she bumped into the wall.

He half expected to find fear on her face, but instead—_bloody hell!_—her gaze matched the desire in his.

_It's not her, it's those damn compulsions. It's not real._

Inches separated them and the heat from her skin warmed every part of him.

He'd have given anything in that moment to be able to touch Emma, to feel her pulse thrum through her body. To taste the salty sweetness of her and catch her gasps with his mouth.

_Bloody buggering hell_.

Instead, Killian lifted his right hand, slowly stroking the backs of his fingers along the material of the red dress, sliding his fingers down the draped sides, dipping a finger beneath the bodice. His eyes never left hers, blazing into them, telling her silently what he wanted.

Emma's breaths grew shallow and her tongue traced her lips, inviting him.

_If only..._

He then repeated the same process with the black one and she sagged into the wall as if seeking support.

_I could take her. Here. Now._

_You want more. You want it all. You want forever._

_Patience._

Killian swallowed, licking his dry lips before he spoke, his voice laden with need. "I'd choose the red. The black has a lovely slit to show off your wonderful legs, but you'll be at a pub or restaurant, aye?" She gulped, giving him a slight nod. "He'll be denied the sight once you are seated. The cut is lower in the bodice of the red dress and will show you off to full advantage. A man like that will be so stunned by the glorious display of your soft skin, he'll neglect to look up into your eyes and see the trap awaiting him." He forced a smile. "Is that helpful enough, love?"

He didn't wait for an answer, striding to his room without another glance, afraid of what he might do if he looked.

* * *

_Holy—_

Emma struggled to breathe, feeling as though the air had been knocked from her lungs. Her legs shook, barely able to hold her up—_thank goodness for the wall_—and the slippery heat between her thighs ached to be touched.

—_hell._

_What just happened?_

_You mean other than daring your sexy roommate to give you fashion advice?_

_I've never been jealous of my clothing before._

_There's a first time for everything._

Erotic didn't begin to cover Killian's actions, her body reacting as though the dresses hugged her tight while he fingered the fabrics. Only he hadn't touched her—hadn't come close—even though Emma had all but begged for it.

_So much for my self control._

For a minute, she'd been certain he'd answer her silent plea. With Henry spending the night at his friend Avery's, she and Killian had the place to themselves.

_Why did he walk away?_

_Well either he really is a gentleman and refuses to break the ground rules you insisted upon…_

_Or?_

_...or he didn't want to mess up your hair before your date with the perp._

_Or? _

_...or he meant it when he said—hypothetically—that one time wouldn't be enough._

_Shit._

Emma had to get ready soon—she couldn't risk her skip getting suspicious or annoyed and leaving before she could handcuff him.

And she would… just as soon as her legs regained the strength to walk again.

* * *

Emma stared at the wooden door in front her, trepidation mixing with a heavy dose of anticipation.

_I shouldn't do this._

_He didn't really leave you a choice though. What's the worse that could happen?_

Unwilling to go through all the worst-case scenarios—although the best-case were equally terrifying—Emma knocked on the door before she changed her mind.

And she waited.

And waited.

_Maybe he fell asleep._

_Before dinner? I don't think so. Maybe he's avoiding you._

_He never has be—_

The door opened without warning, startling her. Emma swallowed as she took in Killian's disheveled state.

_Oh my—_

His hair was mess, sticking up in random directions—that damn sex hair. His shirt wasn't buttoned at all, baring a narrow strip of skin all the way down to the leather pants. It teased her, displaying a hint of his well-defined stomach, the trail of dark hair down the middle—_I know it goes farther than that_—disappearing into the leather pants.

Her hand nearly reached out, wanting to see if the lines of his body matched the ones she imagined, that she swore she somehow knew.

"As flattering as this is, darling, somehow I doubt you're seeking that sort of attention before you execute your trap." Emma's eyes whipped up, her face heating with embarrassment as she caught the smirk on his face, the lift of his eyebrow.

_But his eyes… _

The mask had returned, so similar to her own, the one that shielded his thoughts and emotions. Only this time, a glimmer of heat slipped through, hinting that he probably wasn't as composed as he pretended.

_Now is not the time to analyze this. Just get it over with._

"As you can see, I'm taking your advice—the red dress is perfect for tonight." Emma gave a little nervous smile, clearing her throat as she realized he'd already noticed and that was likely why the blue depths stirred with fire. _Holy_— "The problem is Henry usually helps me and he's gone and I—" Emma tugged at her dress with her right hand, hiking it up a bit where her left arm clutched it tight to her body. She turned and used her right hand to pull her hair over one shoulder, displaying the half-zipped back of her dress. "I need your help."

She kept her back turned, hoping Killian would hurry and she could flee without having to face him again. She heard his hitched breath, feet shuffling, and a faint scratch—probably behind his ear—

"I'm afraid my services will require another attachment, love. I can't work that bloody contraption with this one."

Emma sighed, just wanting this over, to leave, to put space between them because her body still hummed from their earlier conversation and ached to be touched.

_Don't think about what the attachment might be._ _Make it through this, through dinner, turn the skip in, and then you can find someone to take care of it._

"Use whatever attachment you need. I need to leave in ten minutes or I'm going to be late." She cringed at her sharp tone, recognizing it stemmed from desperation to push him away before she did something really, really, _really _stupid.

His heavy sigh—_resigned? frustrated?_—hit her and she heard faint footsteps pad away from her, the sound of material rustling. A small click—_where had she heard it before?_—echoed in the hallway and another followed.

"Always happy to repay a favor, love."

Quiet footsteps, then warmth spread over her back, his body close and his breath tickling her shoulder and neck. A gasp escaped her as heat lightly traced up her spine—his fingers—before pausing at the top, tugging the fabric together.

Emma's heart thudded and she clenched her thighs together, trying to stop the dampness from spreading as something caught the zipper and slowly dragged it to the top. His fingers drifted over the material on her upper back, trailing over her right shoulder, slipping over the pile of curls until the feathering touch found the exposed skin where her collarbone met her neck.

She held her breath, frozen, waiting to see what path he would take next. His fingers curled around her hair—_please, don't let him notice that shiver_—and the tips of them caressed her shoulder as they retreated, taking the locks of hair with them until the curls draped down her back again.

Emma told herself it was an exhale of relief, not disappointment, that whooshed out of her when his warmth left her, the apartment suddenly cold. She fought the compulsion to turn and forget every vow and promise to not ruin...whatever it was connecting them from the moment they met, instead taking a few deep breaths to return oxygen to her body before speaking. "Thanks, Jones. Gotta run. Don't wait up."

She didn't look back as she fled to her room, focusing on finding and slipping on the stilettoed heels that matched the dress and grabbing her purse.

_Taser, pepper spray, handcuffs, phone, and wallet? _

_Check, check, check, check, and check. _

She quickly reapplied some lipstick—_don't think about how you must have licked it off_—and nearly crashed into Killian as she exited her room. She stumbled back just in time, nearly wrenching her ankle in evading him.

_If I touch him…_

_...you won't be to resist, will you?_

To her relief—_ignore the twinge of disappointment_—he was fully dressed. He'd changed his shirt to the cashmere one she'd seen in the dressing room when she'd zipped his—

_This is so not helping._

—and he'd donned the fancier leather jacket he'd bought during their shopping excursions instead of the long one he favored. His hair was still messy but now rested in the fashionable way that the famous purposefully strived to achieve.

_How the hell did he get dressed so fast with one—_

"Swan."

Emma tried to summon annoyance, glaring at him. "What are you doing lurking out here? I need to leave."

"Aye, about that." The ear scratch was back and her eyes quickly flitted to his other hand, seeing the fake one in place, suddenly curious what other attachment he'd used to zip up her dress. "I was wondering if you'd like some aid on your quest tonight?"

"Huh?"

Killian smiled. "I believe the term used is "backup". He stepped away, gesturing with his bad arm at her feet. "What if the chap tries to escape?"

Emma smirked at him. "I thought you told me this dress would mesmerize him to the point he'd never see a trap coming."

_Don't think about Killian slipping his fingers under the top, pulling the material down and—_

"On the off chance the man is blind, I can't imagine you could catch him while wearing those."

_Oh, dammit._

Killian had a point. In Boston, she'd often used a boot to make sure the guy couldn't run: show up a few minutes late, find his car, stick a boot on it, go to dinner. But this was Manhattan and hardly anyone drove car. All he had to do was grab a cab or escape into the nearest subway and she'd have to start all over.

She needed to update her honey trap for this city, only since she had to leave in three minutes, now was not the time.

_This is a bad idea. Don't do it._

_He can stake out the exit just in case._

_A very bad idea._

_It wouldn't hurt to have some extra hands—hand and attachment?—in case he resists._

_As Killian would say, "bloody hell."_

"Fine, but you are there for backup only. You don't approach us, you don't smile at me, and you don't do anything unless he tries to bolt. Understand?"

"I believe you're quite clear, love."

"Oh, and I'm leaving in sixty seconds and if you aren't ready by then, you're going to have to get your own cab." She eyed his jacket.

_Please don't be ready. Please don't be re—_

"Ready when you are, love."

Emma scurried to the closet, pulling out her fancier warm coat—it was a cold night—and slipping it on. The click of her heels sounded on the hard floors as she returned to Killian, who casually leaned next to the front door, arms crossed with a satisfied grin across his face.

Emma rolled her eyes at him, using the action as a cover, not thinking before she spoke. "I'm on to you, Jones. You just want to see your fashion advice in action."

A flicker of heat raced through his eyes—_or did I imagine it?_— before he returned the eye roll. "I merely want to see how the hell you walk in those without killing yourself." He eyed the shoes with something akin to fascination, before following the lines of her body up until they reached her eyes again.

_He had to stop doing that. _

Then the bastard winked at her. "Though I do see their appeal."

Emma couldn't help it, emboldened by the fact it couldn't go any further and a cab likely waited for her at the building's entrance. She eliminated the space between them, trying to pretend he was a mark and not Killian. She licked her lips and grabbed the lapel of his jacket with one hand, tugging him closer, until his ear was level with her lips.

"They also hurt like hell when you stomp on someone's foot." Her voice oozed with seduction, a mere whisper, contradicting the words she said. "Get in my way or ruin this and you'll become intimately acquainted with the sensation."

It took all her control to push him back—she wanted to press her body into his, see what he tasted like—and her purse vibrated in her other hand, reminding her it was time to leave.

She couldn't quite decipher the look on his face: admiration? need? amusement? understanding? Whatever it was, he simply nodded, and motioned toward the door. "After you, love."

Emma exited the apartment, leaving him to lock up, the weight of his gaze heating her body like before.

_What did I get myself into?_

* * *

_You've lost your bloody mind, mate._

Killian glanced at Emma, the passing lights flashing over her, her gaze focused outside her window. She'd alternated between ignoring him and demanding his absolute compliance for the night, and he'd be blind to miss the tension filling the space between them in the taxi.

He missed the easy camaraderie they normally shared, the current sensation reminiscent of—

_This is what you wanted to go back to, Captain. Awkward tension. Yes, I can see why that is so much better than having her happy and enjoying your company._

_Bugger off, your majesty. I'm a bit busy._

_Don't mess it up, Hook. _

Killian sighed, the sound surprisingly loud in the confines of the vessel. The damn voice had a valid point—this was far more representative of what he recalled of their relationship than the false one they normally lived.

Emma twisted her head toward him, giving him a questioning look. "Having second thoughts?"

_Not a chance in hell._

But if he wanted to ensure she didn't rid herself of his presence, he needed to return their relationship to the false status quo.

"I don't do this often, love, so treasure it. I need to apologize."

Her brow furrowed, confusion lacing her face. "For what?"

Killian bit his lip, trying to form the right words. "For my earlier behavior regarding your choice of dress. I swore to always be a gentleman toward you, a friend."

The lines of her face softened. "And you have been." She fiddled with her satchel, looking at it before facing him again. "You haven't done anything I didn't ask for, Killian." Her tentative smile twisted his insides and he swore to make her smile and laugh more, now that she'd healed and no longer grimaced when doing so. "Hey, after we've hauled this guy in and I get him re-booked, do you want to grab a drink somewhere?"

Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't that, and there was little point in hiding his happiness over her invitation. He was certain beaming didn't begin to encapsulate his feelings. He swallowed, trying to control the emotion lest he cause the aforementioned tension to return. "Aye, I'd like that."

She settled deeper into her seat, her body more relaxed. "Good."

Perhaps he hadn't ruined things after all.

* * *

_Killian was right—this dress really is perfect._

The guy—his real name was Milton Browen, but he'd told her it was Jensen Smith—had barely made eye contact with her since she sat down. She made pleasantries, let him dig his hole, then revealed she knew who he was before they even ordered. Milton—so confused the body with the breasts also carried a brain—hadn't even tried to escape before she slapped the handcuffs on him.

The handcuffs, however, broke his stupor and the idiot tried to bolt. A well-placed foot—courtesy of Killian, who caught the slight nod she sent his way when the asshole ran—sent Milton sprawling.

Killian winked at her as he helped haul Milton to his feet. "I told you we make quite the team, love."

_I've never had this much fun working before._

_Maybe having him as backup sometimes isn't a bad idea._

Killian maneuvered himself into the middle of their cab, separating her from Milton. It meant her side pressed into Killian's, his body heating hers.

And when their hands brushed—accidentally—multiple times, Emma had to fight to avoid lacing her fingers with his.

She didn't move her hand out of the way, waiting for the next time. Hoping for it.

They dropped off Milton at the police station, Killian smiling proudly the entire time.

She tried not to beam back.

They grabbed another cab and for a minute, Emma considered giving the driver their home address.

_Just once might be enough. At the very least it would separate fantasy and fact._

_And what if he lives up to the fantasy? Would you be able to stay away?_

_Has he even heard of "friends with benefits"? _

_What if I don't meet his expectations? Would Killian leave, walk out?_

_What if he rejects me?_

_You like him. _

_I do. A lot. Too much to fuck up what we have because my body wants to constantly jump his. _

_No, far better to carve the line in ground and cement it to ensure neither of us crosses it._

_This is gonna hurt like hell._

Emma rattled off the name of a bar she'd been meaning to check out for weeks.

If the occasional sharp turn caused her to lean into Killian, her hand bracing itself on his leg a few moments longer than necessary, Emma figured it was fate's way of telling her to enjoy these last few moments.

* * *

**_A/N: Two updates in less than week! This was turning into a long chapter, so I had to split it, so the next update will be soon (already over 2K words in). _**

**_Many thanks to OnceSnow and BirdofOrk for their betaing skills. You make my writing stronger._**

**_All feedback or constructive criticism is welcomed._**


	10. Chapter 9: An Appetizer

_**A/N: The characters are not mine (obviously) and some dialogue is from the show (Once Upon a Time).**_

* * *

**CHAPTER 9**

"You look absolutely stunning, love." Killian's gaze was warm, his body close, leaning in, his lips near her ear to be heard over the noise of the bar. "I'm the envy of every man in here."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Pretty sure a few women are plotting my demise." The jealous looks thrown her way—some of them downright hostile—told Emma this place's reputation as a pick-up bar hadn't been exaggerated. She smiled sweetly at the brazen few whose gazes she met, briefly forgetting her intentions for the night. A few men sought to catch her attention and she shrugged at them, not encouraging, but not discouraging them either.

_Later, maybe._

Killian—always perceptive—gave her a questioning look, then took a moment to scan the bar before bringing his body even closer. "Why do I feel as though we are pieces of meat on display?" Guilt must have shown in her expression because wariness spread over him. "We're not here to just have a few libations, are we?"

_So much for enjoying some drinks together first. _

Emma swallowed. "Not exactly. Just hear me out, okay?"

His body tensed, as if preparing for attack, the previous joy leaching away and it hurt her—_dammit_—to see the change.

Their drinks arrived and he immediately downed his rum, waving the glass at the shocked waitress. "A few more of those, if you please, darling." He turned his stare back at Emma. "Something tells me I'm going to need it tonight." The waitress disappeared and Killian cocked his head. "I'm listening."

She gulped again, not sure where to start.

_The beginning is always good._

"This… thing… connection… déjà vu… past life—whatever this is between us—isn't going away. I think it's getting stronger." She waited for him to acknowledge her statement but he just continued to give her that unreadable stare. She licked her lips and continued. "You're a part of our lives now, Killian—mine and Henry's—and I can't lose you."

His eyes softened slightly. "I've told you before, Swan, I'm not going anywhere."

Emma tamped down the warmth elicited from his words, wanting to believe him.

_How to explain this?_

_Go with your gut. It will tell you what to do_.

"If I asked you to to have sex with me tonight, would you say yes?" Her cheeks burned and Emma hoped the bar's lighting hid her blush, but she never took her eyes off Killian.

His mask slipped and she watched him process her question. Shock. Hope. Happiness. Heat. Frustration. Curiosity. Sadness. Guilt? Then the mask slid back into place, the clenching of his jaw the only sign of inner turmoil. "You wouldn't ask, love."

She sighed, but refused to let him off the hook. "This is a hypothetical question. Imagine we don't have an agreement, no ground rules to stop us." She swallowed again, feeling as though something was stuck in her throat, afraid for a moment she'd been wrong. "Would you say yes?"

His jaw tightened and she peeked down. His knuckles were nearly white from gripping the table.

Unable to stop herself—it was a miracle she hadn't kissed him yet with her pitiful self-control—she slid one hand over his, running her thumb along the soft hairs on top. "Killian?"

His mask crumbled at the edges, weakening. Emma wasn't prepared for the raw emotion—anger and heat and something she refused to name—escaping his shield. "Bloody hell." He closed his eyes for a moment, as if to compose himself, before boring his gaze back into hers. "I sincerely hope—hypothetically, of course—that I'd still have enough wits about me to decline your offer until another time."

Emma had expected his answer—_actually, more of a simple "no", but then Killian rarely made words simple_—but she still couldn't stop the twist of rejection slicing through her. "That's what I thought."

She lifted her hand, only to have Killian capture it, lightly feathering his thumb over her skin as she'd done to him. "The point is, love, we do have an agreement. I'm doing my damndest to remain a man of honor when I would like very much to slide my fingers along the insides of your lovely legs to where they meet and see if you are as wet for me as I am hard for you."

_Oh god_—

"I don't want a single night with you; I want them all." His lips brushed over her knuckles and she shivered, but it was the sincerity in his eyes that melted her insides. "I have much to tell you about my past—things I don't think you are ready to hear yet, but I believe in good form. So when I win your heart, Emma—and I will win it—it won't be because of any trickery, it will be because you want me."

_Holy—_

"And when I do succeed—" his smile was sinful, full of promise, "—that's when the fun begins."

_So familiar._

_Pretty sure I would remember a conversation like that._

_Maybe he stole it from a movie?_

_All he's watched so far are Marvel movies. Does that sound like something Ironman would say? Unless he's secretly bingeing on Netflix while I'm asleep._

_You're trying to avoid dealing with what he told you._

_Of course I am! There isn't exactly a handbook for "What to do when your roommate vows to win your heart, but leaves you horny and refuses to have sex with—"_

"Two more doubles of rum, neat." The waitress slid the drinks on the table, sending Killian a sympathetic smile before tossing a glare Emma's way.

_Really?_

"Thank you." Did Emma imagine it or was Killian's voice extra husky?

"Anytime." Her grin carried a seductive edge to it and she winked at Killian before she left.

_He is still holding my hand, bitch._

"Something wrong with your drink, love?"

Emma blinked, looking back at Killian. "Huh?"

"You were glaring daggers at the serving lass." Killian's gaze was far too satisfied, too knowing.

_You are jealous._

_I am n—_

_Fuck. This is not going how I planned._

Emma rolled her eyes. "She glared at me first. That's just bad customer service." His thumb found the sensitive curve between her thumb and finger, the light caress doing things to her—and her underwear—that shouldn't be possible with such an innocent touch.

_Dammit dammit dammit!_

"I need to get laid." The words blurted out in a rush before she realized Killian probably had no idea what "laid" was. _Godammit! _"Sex. I need to have sex."

_With you. But you want more than I can give right now._

Killian's eyes darkened, a storm forming. His hand tightened on hers, stopping just shy of being painful before releasing her. It immediately found one of his drinks and grabbed it, tossing the rum back as though it was water. He licked his lips and slammed the glass down before gripping the other drink in his hand, swirling the liquid around while he stared at it.

Emma fought the urge to reach for him—her contradictory actions were part of the problem—and tossed back her shot instead, knowing she'd need several more before the night was out.

The storm still raged in his eyes when they finally found hers—he made no effort to hide it this time. "And you believe you can find someone here, in this tavern, to give you what you want?"

_I want you._

Emma shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."

Killian's jaw clenched and half of his drink disappeared—his hand nearly white. "Then why did you bring me here?

_Temporary stupidity?_

_I wanted you to change my mind?_

_You thought if he found someone too, it would help with the compulsions and you could go back to being friendly roommates. Didn't count on being jealous of just the idea of him smiling at another woman, much less of how she would be the one to be touched by his_—

_I obviously wasn't thinking._

"Because my compulsions aren't going away. Because if I hadn't had a date with a perp tonight, I probably would have done something really stupid, like knock on your door wearing my sexiest lingerie and ask you to take it off me." Emma winced at her words and the need lacing her voice—too exposed, too vulnerable. But it was Killian—her friend, when she didn't want to jump him—and she'd promised honesty. "And I knew you didn't want that, or you'd have had my robe off and been inside me against the damn hallway wall."

Lightning flashed in his eyes, hot and electric. "I fail to see how bringing me here will alter your compulsions."

_Sure, now his perceptive powers fail._

"You obviously have a healthy… um... libido. I thought you might—" Emma swallowed, the words stuck in her throat.

Killian dared her to speak them, raising his eyebrows, eyes blazing with challenge.

"_I love a challenge."_

_So do I._

Emma twisted her hands in the lapels of Killian's jacket, yanking him toward her. She caught the flicker of surprise in his eyes, the desire, before closing hers and finding his mouth with her own.

_Oh god_—

_Yes..._

She tasted the rum on his lips, heat pooling in her belly, a sigh escaping as her left hand slid along his neck, threading her fingers into his hair and pulling him closer. He gave a sharp inhale, his mouth hot against hers, his fingers following a similar path, caressing the side of her neck, his thumb running over her ear as her body shivered.

_Holy—_

_The man could kiss. _

_That's putting it mildly._

Emma forgot she was in a bar and that she hated public displays of affection. All fear and uncertainty fled—_why did I wait so long?_—the world narrowing until it was just them.

_So right._

_So familiar._

Emma kept waiting for him to let go and take control of the kiss—most men did—but he kept his touch light, his mouth anticipating her every move, meeting her halfway. She tugged Killian's hair tighter, demanding more, trying to stop the tremble in her limbs. Her other hand released his jacket and found his knee beneath the table, gliding along the taut muscles until she found his thigh, mentally cursing the table for blocking her from going any further. She drank in his moan as her hand gripped his leg, his heat seeping through the soft leather into her palm. Her blood turned to fiery liquid, pulsing through her body, begging for his touch to put out the flames.

_Not enough. More._

Her tongue traced his lips, seeking entry, when something ripped them apart.

Emma searched for the offending party—_the waitress maybe?_—before her eyes met Killian's and she saw the inferno within them.

Want.

Need.

Pain.

Fury.

She flinched as if he'd slapped her. His body was rigid, full of anger, but those eyes… "Killian?"

"I would do damn near anything for you, love." The words were harsh, gritted out through his clenched jaw, as he fought to catch his breath. "However, I do possess a modicum of pride, and I will not be—" he muttered a curse "—what do you call those damn snacks you eat prior to the main course of a meal?"

It took Emma a moment to realize he'd asked her a question. "Um, appetizers?"

He snapped his fingers. "That's it." His gaze hardened again. "I'm not an appetizer, here to whet your appetite before you indulge your hunger elsewhere."

Her jaw dropped. "I—I didn't mean—" God, she was making a mess of this. "I didn't mean to kiss you. That's what I'm trying to tell you. The compulsions are getting harder to control, and I'm afraid one day I'll completely lose my mind and take advantage of you and I don't want to use you." She paused, taking a deep breath, noting the slight softening of his expression. "I've been used before and I like you too much to do that to you. I thought if I—" she swallowed hard, her gut twisting as the words came out "—if we had sex with other people, then maybe one of us will—what did you say? keep our wits about us?—enough that I can control these compulsions or you can stop me from doing something stupid that will make you leave."

The last bit of his drink vanished, fingers pale around the glass. Killian looked down at the table, at his drink, at his fake hand, everywhere but at her as his breathing normalized and the anger leached away. He released the glass and fidgeted with his fake hand before speaking. "I can tell you, again, that I won't leave, but I know you won't believe that, even though your superpower tells you I'm not lying. I could also tell you, you could 'get laid', as you call it, with every bloody bloke in this tavern and I still won't leave. Not sure you'd believe that either." His eyes finally met hers, still a blend of desire and anger. "You could also request my services to satisfy you—and no matter my answer—I still won't leave. In fact," he looked down for a moment, biting his lip before meeting her gaze again, "short of ordering me to leave and never come back—or forfeiting my life—I'm not going anywhere." Killian cocked his head for a moment, eyes glancing upward in thought, a small smile playing over his lips. "Though it is possible, even if I am no longer of this world, my ghost could come back to haunt you, so I make no promises on that."

_How is it possible to want to laugh and cry at the same time? To want to wrap someone in your arms and never let them go while you push them away so they can't get too close?_

_He's already too close._

_Not close enough. And that kiss… Holy_—

_Indecisive much?_

His eyes returned to hers, a heart-rending plea twisting around the fire. "You don't have to do this, Swan. I—"

"Can I get you anything else?" The waitress completely ignored Emma this time, the lilt in her voice implying Killian could order her as well. When Killian's gaze remained on Emma, the waitress' hand purposefully touched his as she collected the empty glasses, finally getting his attention when the lights briefly flickered.

He tossed her a distracted smile. "I'm not sure yet." Killian sent Emma a questioning look, quite clear this wasn't just about drinks. "Is another round required, love?"

Emma smiled sweetly as the waitress faltered over his term of endearment—she had no idea it was just how Killian talked—and forced saccharine into her voice to match it, unable to stop herself from sidling closer to him. "I think we're ready to leave, honey." She bared her teeth at the waitress. "Just the check, please."

_What are you doing?_

_I can't—_

_If looks could kill you'd be dead._

The waitress left with their glasses, giving one last smile to Killian before she stomped off.

Not that Killian appeared to notice. His eyes hadn't looked away from Emma, and as she met them, she realized she'd given him something she hadn't intended: hope.

_Or maybe that's what you wanted all along._

_No, I just… I couldn't… _

_You don't want him with anyone else. You brought him here to_—

_I know!_

_Don't you just love irony?_

Killian's body relaxed, his relief palpable and he quirked an eyebrow at her. "Honey? Since when are you one for superfluous endearments?"

Emma's face flamed but she rolled her eyes, trying to hide it. "Would you have preferred 'pooh bear' or 'sweetie-pie?'"

His bark of laughter did things to her insides that had nothing to do with sex. "Do people actually use those in this re—city?"

Emma smiled. "Only the weird ones."

For a moment, she thought he'd let it drop. _That would be too easy_. He studied her a moment. "And where precisely does 'honey' fall in the spectrum?"

Emma leaned back, suddenly realizing how close they were—_damn, he smelled good_—trying to steady her features into nonchalance, fully aware her cheeks still burned and how much she wanted to kiss him again. "It falls into the 'things friends don't mention ever again' category." She gave him a pointed look.

He nodded, his answering smile far too satisfied. "Consider it done." His gaze perused the room, his teeth biting his lower lip before he looked at her again, the quiet uncertainty there unsettling her. "Might I inquire as to our next destination?"

Emma wanted to go home, but her body still craved his, and without Henry there, she didn't trust herself alone with him.

_You're all dressed up. A shame to waste it._

Emma swallowed. "We haven't eaten yet. Do you want to grab some dinner?"

It was nothing they hadn't done many times—though Henry was always with them—yet Emma's heart sped up.

_Sounds like a date._

_It is not a date!_

_What if he thinks it's a date?_

_Ground rules, remember?_

He eyed her warily, as if she was a puzzle he suddenly couldn't solve. "To be clear, you wish to have me accompany you to another establishment where we are to procure a meal prepared by someone else and dine together?"

"Pretty sure that's what grabbing dinner means."

"After learning the intended purpose of your request that I join you for drinks, can you blame me for being uncertain?" Vulnerability returned to his face and it drew her closer—_compulsion or something else?_—but she stopped just short of covering his hand with hers again.

The words of assurance stuck in her throat because they gave away too much.

_No one here stands a chance of measuring up to him._

Emma needed release, her body begged for it, but after that kiss—at least until the feel and the taste of Killian faded—it had to be him.

_And he turned you down._

A tiny plastic tray with their tab was shoved onto the table, knocking Emma's hand away from Killian's. The waitress preened, giving Killian a definite "come hither" smile.

_Oh, for fuckssake. Give it up._

"Just _call _if you change your mind and need anything else." She tossed him a wink before going to her next table, not bothering to look at Emma.

Emma shook her head, unable to miss the string of numbers penned along the bottom. "Unbelievable." She reached for her purse, grabbing enough cash to cover the bill, glad she had almost the exact amount which left the waitress mere pennies as a tip.

_Serves her right._

Several twenties plopped on top of her money and she whipped her eyes up at Killian. "I've got this. I invited you out, remember?" Suddenly afraid he'd read too much into it, she added, "It's the least I can do after you helped me with Milton." _And for everything else._

His face was far too serious, still too open, as he nodded, a small smile forming on his lips. "I'm well acquainted on how pointless it is to argue when you wish to pay our account, love. I'm merely tipping the lass for her aid."

The jealousy was white hot, rippling through Emma, surprising her with its intensity. The lights flickered again and the bar quieted for a few seconds before returning to normal, but it was enough to give her a moment to breathe, to compose herself before speaking. "Her service was horrible! She didn't stop hitting on you the entire time and she left her num—" she broke off as Killian's smile widened into a grin. "You're happy about that?"

Her fingers tightened into a fist, wanting to punch the smile off his face.

_Yeah, just don't think about why that bothers you…_

He leaned close, tucking a strand of curls behind her shoulder, his eyes—

_Oh god._

—carrying a tenderness she didn't deserve, deep and—

_Too much._

"Would we be leaving together if she hadn't?" His voice was quiet, barely able to be heard over the increasing din of bar.

_I don't kn—_

_Probably not._

She didn't speak, knowing the answer was likely written all over her face.

_Shit._

He gave a slight nod. "I maintain my eternal gratitude is in order. Now," he stood, offering her his hand, the expression on his face making the gesture seem… more, "shall we go?"

Emma only hesitated a moment_—_she didn't care if it was a compulsion or not; it was just the right thing to do_—_and slipped her hand into his.

* * *

_Emma Swan will be the bloody death of me._

_She's a fine way to go, mate._

Killian couldn't shake the sensation he was lost at sea in a storm, washed overboard in a world black as pitch with nothing to guide him, and if he chose the wrong direction, the creatures beneath would pull him into the murky depths if the angry waves didn't capture him first.

_Thankfully, I love a challenge._

Killian couldn't look away from the breathtaking siren in the red dress as she leaned into their joined hands for support, sliding carefully from the barstool to stand in the precarious footwear that highlighted her lovely legs.

_You aren't the only one who noticed._

_It doesn't matter now. She's changed her mind._

_For tonight._

_One day at a time._

A smile of thanks curved Emma's lips and he savored it, knowing a different outcome nearly came to pass.

_It still might, if don't get your bloody arse in gear and restore her memories or find a way to stop her compulsions._

The taste of her—different, yet the same from the kiss in Neverland and the night on his ship—lingered on his lips and he craved more.

_But is it me she wants, or is a spell at work?_

Killian mourned the loss of her hand, releasing it so she could don her coat, wishing to be a gentleman and aid her in the task.

_It's time to ditch the useless hand for my hook. _

_And if she fears it?_

_Then worrying about her taking another man to bed will be the lesser of my problems. Besides, it might jog her memory._

_That's your brilliant plan, Captain? To show her your hook?_

_It's merely the beginning, but I'm not interested in your advice, your majesty. _

"Hey." Fingers linked with his and he struggled to hide his surprise, trying to read her. Emma started walking, tugging him along. He stumbled after her willingly, a bit dazed at her open countenance and unsure what it meant. "So what are you in the mood for?"

_You. Always you._

Killian blinked—quite certain his interpretation of her question was erroneous.

She smirked, as if reading his mind. "You know, for dinner?"

The cold night air hit them as they exited the bar and Killian released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding—hoping it would be the last time either of them set foot in that damn place. He drew closer to her, unable to stop his thumb from caressing the pulse at her wrist. "Aren't you the one who explained the perils of attempting to dine without reservations?"

He regretted his words when panic flitted across her face, her grip tightening on his hand and a muttered oath escaping.

"Swan?" His thumb paused on her wrist, the rapid beat of her pulse making Killian wonder if she was about to bolt.

_Certainly wouldn't be the first time._

Her tongue traced her lips, a swallow rolling down her throat, but her eyes remained steady on him. "Normally I'd suggest we order take-out and go home, but—" her gaze dropped to his mouth, a simmering hunger lurking in it as her teeth bit her lower lip, "—I don't trust myself alone with you right now." Her eyes widened, seemingly surprised at her own admission, lines forming between her furrowed brows.

_You aren't the only one, love._

_Do it. Escort her home and take her against the wall as you wished to earlier. Or perhaps you want to feast on her atop the counter instead._

_When her memories return she'll never forgive me._

_Or it could jog her memory._

_The end result would be the same._

_Bloody hell!_

Killian was quite certain a deity was laughing somewhere, having granted his wish for Emma to drop her walls while ensuring his place in hell if he dared take advantage of it.

_No, that's just the Evil Queen, mate._

_What's the matter, Captain? Afraid you can't live up to your innuendo?_

_Blo_—

"Isn't this where you're supposed to make some kind of crack about how it's only natural I can't control myself because you're so devilishly handsome, but not to worry because you evidently possess the self-control of a monk?" A hint of challenge lurked behind her teasing grin.

_Answer her challenge and use the night to see how accurate your memories are._

Their kiss from the tavern taunted him: the faint scent of her, soft locks of her hair, the heat of her palm burning him through the leather...

_Surely one more kiss wouldn't hurt. And if she decides to—_

_No!_

Killian compromised and brought her hand to his lips, brushing a chaste kiss along the top before waggling his eyebrows at her. "I prefer 'dashing rapscallion,' love."

Emma threw back her head and laughed.

_Angels could not match it._

He cherished her unrestrained gaiety—its music soothed even the most damaged soul. Yet the echo of it, so rare in his memories, sliced through him every time, a reminder that this Emma and the one he knew before were not the same.

That reminder held him in control—for now—and Killian hoped it would be enough. To survive tonight, every moment, until her memories returned.

_Please let it be enough._

His smile—for how could he not smile when she laughed—hopefully covered his constant dilemma. He performed a small bow, still holding her hand. "And fear not, for I have no intention of plundering your virtue." He gave her an exaggerated wink. "Yet." The word was enunciated, popping the 't'.

The heat remained in Emma's gaze, mixing with mirth. Her tongue flicked along her lips and her smile transformed into something sinful. "Maybe it's not my virtue you should be worried about."

_Bloody temptress. _

_She's magnificent. _

Killian shook his head, grinning at her. "You'd make one hell of a pirate." Trusting his instincts, he tugged her even closer—_playing with fire, mate_—drawing her hand to his heart, covering her fingers with his own. "When the time is right, I will be your most willing captive, darling, but engaging in such activities tonight would go against our current accord."

The teasing look vanished, something akin to both disappointment and relief crossing across her face. Then sincerity took over and it weakened him far more than her flirtations. "And if I want to change the rules?"

_Bloody hell._

His heart picked up speed and Emma's hand pressed harder against his chest, the staccato rhythm pounding against her fingers. "Do you, love?"

Vulnerability crept into her eyes and she studied him, as if searching for answers. He didn't hide his inner turmoil, for once hoping it would create distance between them. She finally shook her head. "I think we should keep them." She gave a sheepish smile. "Even if I can't seem to remember them half the time."

_It is the answer I wanted, yet…_

_A part of you wanted her to change her mind._

_Aye, but I need time to restore her memories and altering our agreement would complicate matters._

Killian squeezed her hand, slowly removing it from his chest even though he wanted nothing more than to pull her body into his. "Then I shall endeavor to remind you of what you've forgotten." _In more ways than one. _He motioned toward the street, "Shall we see about acquiring some sustenance?"

"There's still the problem of where we're going to eat."

He read between the lines—she still feared her compulsions if they went home—and just smiled. "I've an idea about that." He waved down a transport, not releasing her hand until the yellow vessel stopped and he needed his to open the door. "Your chariot awaits."

Emma rolled her eyes at him and climbed into the backseat, the angle allowing him an enthralling view.

_You've tasted all of that skin and what little the dress hides. You could do so again, if you just_—

_No._

He climbed in after her, forcing the unbidden images of sharing his cabin with her from his mind. He gave the driver their destination, noting her smile of approval.

_Excellent_.

He needed his wits tonight and downing as much rum as he had—even though this realm's rum was far weaker than the Enchanted Forest's—had been an error in judgment given what little food he'd consumed.

_Yes, but that's when you thought she'd seek out another to—_

_I know damn well what she intended._

_Confessing your feelings and the wish to win her heart were not perhaps the wisest course of action either. What if you succeed and her memories are still lost?_

_It was the only truthful justification she would believe for turning down her hypothetical offer. I could not bear the pain in her eyes. And if she truly comes to care for me as I do for her and her memories are not restored… I will tell her everything._

The recognizable cackle returned, sounding far too... evil.

_We'll see about that, Hook._

Killian's thoughts were broken as the taxi turned a sharp corner and Emma leaned into him. The vessel's path straightened but she remained against him. He couldn't feel her heat—their coats prevented it—but still savored the contact.

And if another turn demanded he place his left arm behind her, allowing her to tuck herself into the crook of his shoulder, who was he to deny it?

* * *

**_A/N #2: This chapter got very long (again) so I had to split it (again), which is why this took so long to post. What I thought was a few hundred words left, turned into 6000ish. But the next chapter is done and will be posted in a week (assuming you all are still enjoying it)._**

**_I greatly appreciate all of the feedback I get on this fic (it is so fun to write) and if you've been lurking, I'd love to hear why you read it, too._**

**_Many thanks to BirdofOrk and OnceSnow for being my beta's. Hopefully I haven't killed them with this writing spree._**


	11. Chapter 10: Not a Date

_**A/N: There is a section near the end of this chapter that earns the *M* rating, but it should be very easy to avoid (when you see "buggering hell" in Killian's thoughts) if that isn't your thing. Just like the previous chapter a lot of it balances on the edge between *T* and *M*… So *U* for copious amounts of UST again… (Sorry…not sorry).**_

* * *

**CHAPTER 10: Not a Date**

Killian picked sushi—they'd all tried it one night and while Henry hadn't cared for it, she and Killian had both enjoyed it.

Emma watched him scroll through his phone—he'd adapted to technology insanely fast—calling the restaurant and placing a to-go order for the rolls she'd raved about the last time.

_He remembered._

She didn't fight the curve of the taxi, her body refusing to listen to reason and needing his touch any way she could have it.

_I need help._

And when his arm draped over her shoulders, Emma wondered if the pull remained as strong for him as for her.

Nerves danced in her stomach; Emma was afraid to ask where he planned on eating dinner, secretly hoping and dreading it was at their apartment.

It wasn't.

Killian held the cab while she went inside the restaurant and paid for their dinner—she insisted on it as payback for his earlier help—and while they drove close to their apartment afterward, the cab went too far.

It stopped at a park and Killian—somehow in gentleman mode in spite of the night's events—paid the driver and helped her out. His fingers found hers again and he guided her—his footsteps sure, as if he'd traveled this path before—into the park. Emma heard the sound of waves, saw the lights across the river, and admired the view until she realized he'd picked a bench near the water.

"Come here often?" She meant it as a joke—they had only been here a month after all.

The full moon lit what the city didn't and she could still see the blue of his eyes, surprised at the quiet serenity on his face. "Aye. I discovered it several weeks ago." She waited for him to elaborate but he turned his attention to their bag of food.

Emma fidgeted, not sure if she should sit, the breeze off the water chilling her.

"Cold, love?"

"I'm not exactly dressed for a night picnic." She longed for their apartment and some hot chocolate.

_And having Killian strip off your dress while you undo his p—_

_Okay, still a bad idea._

She couldn't read the glint in his eyes before he turned, removing his jacket and sitting on one end of the bench. He angled his body so his back was to the far side, stretching his left leg so it rested against the length of the bench, his other still on the ground. "I suppose I'll just have to ensure you're warm enough." He patted the spot in front of him, drawing her attention to the vee between his legs, and she was suddenly annoyed at how his dark pants and the night prevented her fr—

"Like what you see, love?" The smirk was back but she didn't miss the sudden tension in his voice. He waggled his eyebrows at her, the way that always made her smile. "Now if you're through ogling my person, perhaps you'll deign to join me."

Emma shook her head. "I was not... ogling you. I was… just…" She could feel the color flooding her face as one of his brows raised above the other, getting quite the workout. She bit back a smile. "I don't think I'm going to fit."

"On the contrary, darling, I believe you are the perfect fit."

_Oh my_—

She swallowed, the double entendre sending a rush of heat between her thighs, reminding her—again—how she badly she needed to get laid.

_And I'm with the one guy who said no._

_He's also the guy you actually want._

_Shit._

"I can wait all night, Swan, but you'll likely freeze before then."

_It's not like you weren't snuggling—honest to goodness snuggling—with him during the taxi ride._

_Oh shut up_.

"Fine, but if I fall off the damn bench, you'll owe me." She ignored his grin, or tried to. Killian looked happy again, much like he had earlier in the night, and it was contagious. Her smile escaped as she sat down, careful to keep some distance between them.

A tsking sound came from Killian. "You'll never keep warm like that. Although, come to think of it, this might work better if you take off your coat and use mine." His arms opened wide, his left arm resting on the back of the bench, his jacket dangling from his good hand. "I promise not to bite."

His lascivious wink did her in and, unable to hold back her laugh, Emma shrugged out of her coat, putting it onto her lap. He handed her his jacket, and she slipped it on, the heady scent of him surrounding her. _No one should smell that good. _She leaned into him—_his mouth so close, his taste still on her tongue, dammit_—forcing herself to find his ear instead and whisper into it. "I don't."

The flare of heat in his eyes was unmistakable, before admiration took over. "I'll take my chances, love."

Unable to delay it any longer—her legs were freezing, though other parts of her threatened to combust—Emma finally twisted, bringing her back against his chest. She kept the smallest of spaces between them where she sat and pulled her legs up on the bench next to his. His arms came around her, helping her spread her jacket over her legs, tucking it around them.

Even with his jacket on, she could still feel his body heat against her back.

_What would his skin feel like next to mine? _

_Oh hell._

She swayed with Killian as he reached for something—their food—his arms wrapping around her again as he handed the bento box to her. "If you'd do the honors, love."

They ignored the utensils, instead opting for fingers, popping the pieces directly into their mouths. Sometimes their hands met, fingers brushing as they sought out food, lingering longer than they should.

They washed it down with rum from his flask—Emma tucking it beneath her coat after each use, amused at his disbelief over the open container law.

It should have been awkward given the night's events.

Somehow it wasn't.

It should have been uncomfortable, the wooden slats digging into her, the wind chilling her face and hands.

But the slow burn that flared with each touch blocked the cold, her body flushed with desire. The rise and fall of his chest—_was it faster now?_—moved against her, like she was a part of him. Emma scooted closer until her body fully met Killian's, pressing against the hardened ridge that greeted her.

A strangled moan escaped from Killian, the vibration caressing her wherever their bodies touched.

_Holy hell_.

"You're a bloody siren, Swan." Emma pushed into him again—_I can't help it, feels_ _so good_—smiling in satisfaction when his left arm curved around her, tugging her tighter, his sharp inhale taking her body with it._ Yes. _"However, I would be remiss if I did not remind you of our agreement." The words growled into her ear, his voice low.

And—_God_—it did things to her, making her seriously reconsider her ban on sex in public. "What about it?"

"You wished to adhere to it, darling. We can't do this." A plea laced his words, begging her to reconsider, but his arm still held her tight.

Her right hand sought out his, guiding it to the last piece of sushi. "Actually, I've been thinking about that. We covered dating, toilet seats, becoming friends, and bringing others home for… nightcaps." Killian followed her lead, picking up the roll between his fingers. "But there is nothing in it about feeding me." His muscles tensed beneath her fingers, as she drew his hand up to her mouth.

"Bloody he—" His words cut off with a gasp as her tongue flicked along the tips of his fingers. She savored the taste and the groan he failed to hide, before opening her mouth and drawing the roll—and his thumb—inside.

"Emma—"

She kissed the tip of his thumb, wanting to do more, but unable to with the roll in her mouth. She tugged his hand back down, unwilling to release it as she chewed her food.

"—this isn't what you want."

_No, I want more. Much more. _

_But will you take it?_

_I need to._

Emma waited before answering, taking time to finish the food, her body unconsciously arching into him, her leg falling against his as she tried to figure out how to respond. _Show him what you want._ "I—" She stopped as his arms reached around her—dragging her hand with his because she still hadn't let go. His good hand twisted his bad, a familiar click sounding as he removed the wooden one.

_What is he doing?_

"Very carefully reach into the right pocket of my coat."

"Why?" Her entire body hummed for attention and she had been close—_so damn close_—to finally seeing if her fantasies lived up to the reality.

_And if you aren't enough and he leaves?_

_I can't think about that._

"Because there is far too much you don't know about me. It is time I remedy that." His voice still carried a growl, his breath against her ear, and it sent a tremor down her spine.

_He's right. You know almost nothing about his past._

_I don't care._

Emma heaved a sigh, finally letting go of his hand—_since when had she become a hand-holder?_—and slid her hand into the pocket of the leather jacket.

_What the—_

Cold metal greeted her, smooth and curved. She carefully angled it out of the pocket, the weight of it surprising, bringing it in front of her.

_Really?_

"Aren't you taking the Captain Hook thing a little far?" She couldn't help teasing him—_first a ship, then a crocodile, and now a hook?_— though as far as a prop went, this one felt very real.

"Actually, it's been my colorful moniker for more years than I care to recall." His hand covered hers and he gently directed it to his other arm, helping her angle the hook until the thin end slid into the brace, the telltale click sounding as he made her twist it into place. "Most sailors aren't known for their creativity."

_Okay, I didn't see that one coming._

_You're awfully calm about it._

_Yeah well, the hook feels… right._

_And it's kinda hot._

"So should I start calling you 'Hook,' or are you like Jack Sparrow and insist on being called 'Captain' all the time?"

His hand left hers—she missed its warmth—removing the bento box as he spoke. "I've no clue who this Sparrow chap is—rather unfortunate name, that, especially for a Captain." Tension tightened his voice still, but the growl was gone. "I'll answer to either, but 'Killian' will do."

Emma's hand still held the hook and she lifted it, bringing his left arm closer and his chest tight against her back—not missing his sharp inhale—studying the curved metal. "Is this the attachment you keep referring to?"

"Sorry?"

"That day in the dressing room when you… when I…" _Learned you didn't wear underwear. _"When I helped. And today. With my dress. Is this the attachment you wanted?" She ran her fingers along the smooth surface, something about it so familiar.

_Cold steel tracing the inside of her thighs, her body—_

_Now is not the time to fantasize._

"Aye." She almost missed the small tremble in his voice.

_Was he… afraid?_

"You don't usually wear a fake hand, do you?" Emma asked, her gut telling her she was right.

_Or he'd be called "Captain Hand," not "Captain Hook."_

"Upon occasion, when circumstances warrant it." Killian's right hand appeared, seeking out the fake hand from on top of her jacket where it rested, and fiddling with it. "Such as moving into an apartment with a beautiful lass and her lad. Wouldn't want to scare them off, now would I?"

_He thinks I'm beautiful._

"I—" Would she have been scared to meet him if he'd worn a hook and not a hand? Emma had no idea, the day they met a blurry haze. _And now?_ "The hook suits you." She still held it in her hands, though she finally lowered it, giving a nod to his hand. "I think you can put that one away."

Killian complied, both of the hands disappearing, and the jacket tugged as he put it into the same pocket where she'd found the hook. "And what about when your son returns?"

Emma sighed. "Give me a chance to tell him first. He'll either have nightmares—" Killian's entire body tensed against hers and Emma hurried to fix it, "—or he'll think it's the coolest thing ever, start calling you 'Captain Hook,' and make you watch every Peter Pan movie ever made."

He relaxed against her. "Perhaps I should keep the hand."

The dry wit in his voice made her laugh and she rested her head into his shoulder, tucking the hooked arm around her, his body rising and falling with hers. Killian was right—they were a perfect fit together.

_Imagine how well he would fit ins—_

_I have. Maybe if we… if I knew it was only a fantasy, or I could get him out of my system, then we could go back to just being friends and_—

"Swan?" His fingers sifted through the strands of her hair, pausing as if he read her mind.

_Open book, remember?_

"Our agreement doesn't mention anything about being friends with benefits." Emma blurted out the words before she lost her courage.

His body stiffened beneath her, his hand dropping from her hair. "That colloquialism is unfamiliar. Care to explain?"

Emma swallowed—_of course he didn't know. _"It's when… two really good friends… um…" _Shit! How do I explain this? _Her cheeks burned and she was glad Killian couldn't see her face. "They aren't dating anyone else, so they have these… needs. For sex. And they, um… help each other out." His arm tightened around her as she talked, inadvertently pressing her against his arousal and, _dammit_, she wanted more.

_Please let him say yes._

"How exactly is that different from dating?" His strangled words were laced with confusion.

"Dating is… it's about..." Emma racked her brain, trying to remember going on dates that weren't honeytraps, finding her memory hazy. She swore she'd had a few, nothing serious, just drinks and dinner, occasionally followed by sex at the guy's place, then never seeing him again. _Not like you can tell Killian you've never had a real date._ "I don't date."

_Not after Neal. _

His arm remained tight, matching his tone. "By that token, one would assume you already possess beneficial friends to help you."

Emma almost snorted, the idea so ridiculous. "Guys don't hang around long enough to become friends. They'd rather skip to the benefits part."

_You never let anyone get close enough._

_Until now._

Killian muttered something sounding suspiciously like "bloody fools" before he cleared his throat. "If your explanation of dating is that it is something you don't do, and you lack friends to request benefits from, I fail to see how the two are different."

_Is he being deliberately obtuse? Or is he honestly confused?_

"Dating is…"_ Everything I can't have._ "It's about hope. It's dinner and conversation and a desperate search to see if the person across from you is worth the pain and suffering he could cause if you aren't enough. It's about trying to find a happy ending even when you know it's not in the cards for you."

_Where the hell did that come from?_

Emma could feel tears welling in her eyes, threatening to escape, and gave a shaky laugh, marveling at how she couldn't even proposition her roommate without fucking it up.

Killian's right arm curved around her, the backs of his ringed fingers brushing along her right cheek. She leaned into it, relishing his chilled hand against her flushed face, craving more of his touch. Her fingers found his, lacing them together.

_I can't stop touching him. Why?_

His breath tickled her ear. "At the risk of you accusing me of breaking our agreement, I must confess, our actions this eve seem to fall in the realm of dating, love." His hand squeezed hers.

_No, it's not—_

_This isn't—_

_Fuck!_

Panic raced through Emma, her flight response kicking into gear. She extricated herself from KIllian's arms; it was too easy, his arm and hand slipping away without a fight, the cold assaulting her without his body heat. She stumbled to stand in her shoes as she rose from the bench, gripping her jacket in her arms. The rum bottle tumbled to the ground. She whirled on Killian, hating the pain and resignation she saw in his eyes, as if he'd known she'd do this. "This is not a date. We can't date."

She would fall for him—hell, the alcohol buzzing through her system allowed her to admit she already cared for him too much, and if she opened her heart to him…

_I'll lose him. I can't lose him._

He fidgeted with his hand, the moonlight glaring on his hook as he tucked that arm into his side. He nodded, his eyes far too understanding. "As you wish."

Emma shivered as a gust struck her, wanting nothing more than to return to his arms.

Killian shifted on the bench, his left leg returning to the ground, bending over to pick up the empty boxes from their dinner and his flask. She didn't move, teeth nearly chattering—_so cold without him_—and he threw the boxes into a nearby trash can, tucking the bottle away behind him.

He offered her his arm.

She shook her head, refusing, already afraid of how much she craved that simple contact.

Silence descended, muting the sounds of the city, only the click of her heels punctuating their walk.

_I want to touch him._

He hailed a cab, opening the door—still the gentleman—and when the driver asked for their destination, he tilted his head at her, a question in his eyes.

Her panic had tamped down her libido, though with his body so close in the cab…

Boom. It flooded back.

_Shit._

Emma rattled off their apartment's address, immediately turning her attention outside, not wishing to see what Killian thought.

They didn't cuddle this time, the space remaining between them even when the taxi careened around a corner far too fast.

The invisible wedge remained as they rode the elevator, each on their own side.

_Do something._

She didn't.

Killian unlocked their door, opening it for her, polite and… distant.

She flung her jacket on the counter, ready to kick off her heels. He walked past her and opened the closet, pulling out his long leather coat and sliding into it easily, even with the hook. He reached beneath the jacket, pulling the rum bottle free from his pants and taking a drink, before it disappeared into one of the jacket's pockets.

Even in the cashmere sweater—his usual plunging neckline shirt absent—with the jacket and the hook, his rings, necklace and rum… He was the perfect picture of a sexy pirate. _Damn_.

_All he's missing is a sword._

"_When I jab you with my sword, you'll feel it."_

_What the_—

_Wait, what is he doing?_

_You're wearing his other coat. He must be freezing._

_But why did he put on his other one unless he's—_

"You're leaving?" The words caught in her throat, panic swelling again.

_Nononono. He can't leave._

He looked at her, confused, until understanding dawned. "I'm simply going for a stroll, love." He took a step toward her only to stop, shaking his head and scratching his ear as he looked somewhere off to the side. "I'll be back before the lad returns."

Even as relief hit her—_he'll come back_—the implication of his words gnawed at her.

_He's going to stay out all night? Doing what? Or whom?_

_Stop him._

"Don't you want to see what's on Netflix?" She cringed at the desperation in her tone.

Killian's eyes flicked to hers, his mask shielding any emotions. "Do you honestly want to spend the night viewing movies?"

_Lie and he'll stay._

_I can't._

"No."

_I want you._

He nodded, licking his lips and avoiding eye contact again. "Perhaps it's best I leave before either one of us does something that breaks our agreement."

_Don't leave._

"Stay."

* * *

"_Stay."_

Emma's plea was soft, almost a whisper.

How many times had Killian wished for her to utter that word instead of pushing him away?

_I lost count, long ago, and that does not include the stolen memories._

He should go as planned; he didn't trust himself tonight, his strength weakened by rum, jealousy, the heat of her body against his, and the simple pleasure of breathing with her in his arms.

_Stay_.

How could he refuse her?

_Bloody hell._

He stayed.

Emma turned on Netflix—_he would never understand how this world rejected belief in magic when the tools at its fingertips surpassed it in many ways_—much to his surprise.

He didn't remove his coat and purposefully sat on his couch, leaving her alone on the other.

_I never thought you were a coward, Captain._

_A wise man knows better than to underestimate the woman who holds his heart._

The movie had pirates—_so that's who Jack Sparrow is_—and a curse.

Emma shrugged at his raised brow. "It seemed appropriate."

_You have no idea._

_Is there a version of Sparrow in the Enchanted Forest? Perhaps he changed his unfortunate name?_

The _Black Pearl_ reminded him of the _Jolly Roger_, and Killian sent up a silent prayer that wherever his ship was, the _Roger _was all right.

Their distance lasted until the lass in the movie—_he'd done a double take when he'd learned her name was "Swan"_—blew up the rum. _Bloody waste of it._ Emma stood, leaving her couch and walking to his. Her tongue traced her lips as she gave him a tentative smile. "Is the rum gone?"

A swallow rolled down his throat and he reached into his coat, pulling the bottle free. "My rum is your rum, love."

She took an enthusiastic swig—he'd have to refill his flask soon—while he drank in the stunning sight of her, head thrown back, eyes closed, the red dress still clinging to her every curve.

She handed the flask back—_was the brush of her fingers intentional?_—and he kept it in his hand, playing with the bottle so he didn't reach for her.

He tried to turn his attention to the movie—needing a distraction—only to find his view blocked by a siren, back facing him, her hair swept to the side.

"Do you mind? I'd like to change."

_Bloody hell!_

"Not at all." He choked the words out, standing behind her, tucking the rum bottle away, unsure of what he would do if she pushed the beneficial friends matter again. Killian's hand shook as it brushed the back of her neck, hearing her sharp exhale as he released the small clasp at the top. His hook found the small hole in the closure device, dragging it down as his fingers followed the exposed skin the opened the material left behind. The urge to push the sides of the fabric down and bare her body—

_She doesn't remember you. She won't forgive you._

Killian stepped back. "You're free to change, Swan."

She tossed a wink over her shoulder. "Thanks. Hook."

_Damn, never thought I'd long to hear that moniker again._

Emma left the room, thankfully before he did something bloody stupid, the list of ways he could ruin this—whatever they were becoming—too long to contemplate.

He heard the water turn on, the movie forgotten as images of Emma naked and wet besieged him.

_Buggering hell._

Killian fled to his room, his body taut and begging for release. The night had been a slow torture, tempting him with everything he could not have, at the very least, until Emma's memories of him—_them_—were restored. He'd very nearly succumbed at the park when she'd drawn his thumb into her mouth, the disapproving glare of a rare passerby giving him a moment to formulate how he might deter her.

_Too damn close._

A single come-hither smile and he'd likely do whatever she asked of him, even if he ruined the possibility of a future with her.

_I can't allow that to happen._

He quickly undid the closure of his pants, a soft groan escaping as he encircled his aching hardness. Keeping an ear on the running water, Killian welcomed the amorous thoughts he'd contained.

_He should stop her, not pull her body tight against his, the sweet friction driving them both mad._

_He should pull away, not remain pliant in her hand, her tongue sliding along his fingers._

_His body, attuned to Emma's every breath and heartbeat, read the subtle changes easily: her back curving slightly, her left leg draping heavy over his as her legs opened wider in silent invitation, her hand tugging his a bit closer to the edge of her dress._

"_I_—"

_Only this time, he didn't distract her with his hook, "I want you" falling from her lips. He allowed her to guide his hand beneath her coat, his fingers catching the bottom of her dress as her left hand did the same and they worked in tandem to hitch the garment higher. Her right hand tightened on his, directing it to the wet heat between her thighs. _

_And he couldn't stop, couldn't refuse, her bottom grinding into his length as her body arched with a moan, his fingers teasing her until_—

Killian's body shook, tensing as the pleasure overwhelmed him, a feral growl echoing in the room as he came.

"Emma…"

The stroke of his hand slowed to a stop, his body trembling with the aftershocks, his legs threatening to give out on him.

_Bloody—_

He cleaned himself up, briefly debating whether he should change into the sleep clothing Emma had insisted he buy.

He didn't; even his coat remained.

Killian was ensconced back on his couch as though he'd never left before the water turned off.

He tried not to dwell on why Emma's shower lasted far longer than usual.

By the time Emma emerged, words indicating the movie had ended were rolling across the screen. Her skin was flushed from the extended shower, free of embellishment, her favorite pair of pajamas somehow as enticing as her red dress. Her hair was damp, not wet, and Killian's body stirred, unable to stop imagining how she passed the time in the hot spray.

_You'd think I was a bloody youth, not a man who has lived centuries._

Her gait was unsteady as she approached him, as if she's was intoxicated or—

_Don't think about it._

A shy smile crossed her face, hesitant, her gaze flicking to the television. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be gone so long." The redness of her cheeks deepened, cementing his suspicions, his body reacting accordingly. _Damn_. "I could put the next movie on. It's part of a trilogy. It's not as good as the first one but—" She trailed off, shuffling her feet as if she was nervous.

Killian gave her a warm smile, meant to put her at ease. "I've had my fill of pirates for the night, love." Her answering disappointment—_I didn't see that coming_—sliced through him, and he quickly added, "but if there is another movie you wish to view, I'd be happy to keep you company."

Emma's grin was like the sun bursting through a storm.

She tapped away on the Xbox, finding what she was looking for with a quiet "aha," and settled down in the middle of her couch. He missed the name of movie, distracted by her patting the cushion next to her, much like he had on the bench earlier in the evening. "I promise I won't bite."

_Like I could deny her._

As tempting as it was to repeat their earlier conversation—_it would be dangerous, likely to burn them both_—he controlled himself, merely smiling with a nod and moving to the designated spot.

He didn't watch the movie save for a few glances—something about a fly, an odd-looking transport, and a clock tower—too focused on the woman next to him. Inches away, the scent of fresh soap on her skin washed over him, the pattern of her breathing occasionally erratic or labored.

Killian swore energy sparked in the space between them, begging for contact, but he didn't dare yield.

Swan, however...

It began with the tilt of her head, finding his arm draped behind her, her head using it as a pillow.

Minutes passed before she sidled next to him, fitting her body into the curve of his side.

He barely breathed, afraid of ruining it, keeping his gaze on the television though he saw none of what transpired.

Emma's body became heavy against his, her breaths evening out, until she slipped from his shoulder into his lap, his right arm catching her fall, cradling her head in the crook of his arm.

Killian watched her sleep, at peace, a faint smile curling her lips, unable to believe he held a sleeping Emma in his arms.

His body craved her, called for her, and she haunted his dreams, fueled by the memories of the one night she'd given him.

But this, holding her close—

_I could do this forever._

—it was one thing Killian held no memories of: Emma unguarded, her walls down, seeking him for comfort.

_He wanted to lend her his strength, his bed for her to sleep, his arms to keep the nightmare at bay, and gently kiss away her tears._

_He knew better than to offer. She would run._

_Then she requested her favor and he'd hoped_—

_She ran._

His fingers itched to smooth her golden tresses, to tuck an errant strand back.

The movie ended, the screen going black, and he still didn't move.

_I don't want to miss a moment._

But his breaths eased to match hers, slowing and deepening, his eyes growing heavy until the darkness claimed him.

* * *

_**Many thanks to OnceSnow and BirdofOrk for their fabulous beta skills. **_

_**Trying to get the next chapter completed and as cheesy as it sounds, detailed reviews do feed the muse (it's a ravenous little thing). What was your favorite part/line? What wasn't? What do you want to see?**_


	12. Chapter 11: A Bit of a Walk

_**A/N: Some dialogue is not mine and is from the show Once Upon a Time. Many thanks to my lovely betas, OnceSnow and BirdofOrk for making my writing stronger. **_

* * *

**Chapter 11 - A Bit of a Walk**

"_Ask me to stay, Emma, and I will for as long as you wish." The backs of his fingers brush against her cheek. "Choose me and I'll never let you go."_

_She needs to stop him. She grabs a trash can and slams it into him, knocking him out._

_A jungle surrounds them, but his words are the ones he said in the bar. "And when I win your heart, Emma, and I will win it…"_

_She wants to hit replay and view the images again, sensing that an answer lies there, but the background grows lighter and they are harder to see and..._

Ouch.

Emma's body complained from sleeping in an odd position, a row of something hard digging into her hip. Eyes glued shut from sleep, it took her a moment to realize the warmth she thought was a blanket rose and fell in an even rhythm.

She carefully pried open her eyes...

_Oh shit._

Daylight filled the room. Her arms were wrapped around Killian, slipped between his shirt and his jacket, her head laying over his heart. Her legs were curled up, her body forming a ball surrounding him—the imprints on her hip were from the buttons on his jacket. The corner of the couch cradled Killian's upper body, his torso angled at an odd diagonal like he'd slowly slid down, his legs remaining on the floor. His hook was still attached—_she can feel it now_—the cool steel resting against her back, his other arm beneath her.

_Oh my—_

Emma had somehow had the deepest sleep in recent memory in a position more awkward and confined than sleeping in her bug.

_Don't think about why._

She had never seen him asleep. Late to bed, early to rise, Killian's insomnia was far worse than hers. But now his features were relaxed, the slight curve of a smile on his lips. His hair somehow still in place. He looked…

_Happy. Peaceful. Almost… innocent?_

_Gorgeous._

And she wanted…

_Him_.

The tug of the compulsions slammed into her—a hunger—his delicious scent stirring her blood, the strange dreams acting as a catalyst. _"No matter what happens, Swan, my heart belongs to you."_

_Maybe I could have it all and wake up next to him every morning..._

_Mine._

And she needed more—thoughts of morning breath and ground rules ignored—she couldn't stop herself, twisting so her body was flush against his as she slid higher.

_I like him._

Emma brushed her lips against his, soft, gentle, her right hand naturally curving around the back of his head, fingers threading into his hair.

_I really… really… like_—

Blue eyes met hers, the swirling emotion in them probably mirroring her own and—

_Cross the line, and he will leave. _

_Every guy leaves._

_Nononono_.

She panicked, pushing off of Killian so fast, she accidentally kneed his stomach, a loud grunt echoing in the quiet of the room.

"Swan—" His voice hoarse with sleep, the plea carried in it making her want to stay.

She didn't look at him—_couldn't_—her steps hurried.

"Emma, please don't—"

She slammed the door to her room, falling against it and sinking to the floor.

_What have I done?_

* * *

_Emma twists her hand in his hair, yanking his head back as she puts a knife to his throat. "You're not going to guide us anywhere until you tell us who you really are."_

_The scrape of metal. His hook and sword slide down hers, trapping it. His weight presses into her body and she hates how it reacts against her will. "When I jab you with my sword, you'll feel it."_

_Emma's in a cave and bars separate them. "You would've done the same."_

"_Actually, no."_

_Another cave, this one with a giant chasm, a cage she must reach on the other side._

"_I kissed Emma."_

_She touches his bared chest, the whorls of dark hair decorating it, one hand dragging her nails down his side, each hitch in his breath increasing the ache between her legs._

_Her hand slips into his, the look in his eyes too much, and she clicks the cold metal around his wrist._

"_What are you doing?"_

_The blue eyes blaze at her and she brings the knife to his neck. "You tell me one thing, and whatever you say I better believe it."_

_She tugs him away, breaking the kiss as she fights for air, unprepared for the emotion slamming into her. His lips are inches away and she wants more._

"_That was…" _

"_A one-time thing."_

_A giant falls over and panic hits her. "Hook?!"_

_His flask clinks her glass._

"_To Neal."_

_His teeth pull the scarf tight and the look in his eyes sets her body on fire._

_The clang of the chain. She walks away._

_His shouts. "Swan. Swan!"_

_The shadow holds him against a tree—its twin doing the same to Neal—cries of pain in the air._

_Her legs wrap around Hook's waist and she can feel him inside her, the steps he takes naturally rocking her against him._

"_But an orphan's an orphan."_

"_Did you really save his life?"_

_A tattoo on his forearm: the name "Milah," a heart, and a dagger._

"_I've yet to see you fail."_

"_As in Captain Hook?"_

"_...to believe that I could find someone else. That is… until I met you."_

"_Try something new, darling."_

"_Wouldn't you like to know?"_

"_I love a challenge."_

"_Aren't you curious how many times I can make you surrender?"_

"_It's called trust."_

"_Maybe I was… once."_

_The images blur faster and faster, scenery changing every second until…_

Bright sunlight shone in Emma's window and she winced, the scent of chocolate and... pancakes? in the air.

Her stomach rumbled in response and she groaned, rolling over and planting her face in her pillow, not ready to wake up.

_I need sleep._

It had been a week…

Seven days of making sure she was never alone with Killian in their apartment. Of trying to put Henry between them when they went out or hung around at home. Of escaping to her bedroom when Henry went to bed, claiming exhaustion—_after the third night, it was totally true_—because the alternative...

_Scares the shit out of you?_

And her dreams—_holy hell, some of her dreams_—had only gotten worse, vivid with detail, more chaotic and jumbled, like her brain constantly channel-surfed _The Killian Jones Cable Network_. Some stations were almost comedic, others more scifi, some fantasy—_a beanstalk and a pirate ship? really?_— and a few…

_Erotic pay-per-view._

It might have been entertaining if she could watch any of them for more than a few seconds—or whatever time passed for in a dream—each scene a mere blip before changing to the next channel, although Killian's presence in each one gave the impression it was a single, poorly edited Quentin Tarantino film. A film that teased her, hinting it had a secret to spill if only she could put the pieces in order.

She might have laughed it off, but for the simple fact…

_I miss him._

She saw him every day, but…

_I really miss him._

And that… scared her more than anything else.

* * *

"Did you and my mom have a fight?"

Killian started, pausing before he flipped another pancake—he'd mastered the skill after several spectacular failings—unsure if that was exactly what the boy had asked through the mouthful of food. "A gentleman holds his questions until after his food is swallowed." Killian gave the lad a disapproving look.

Henry rolled his eyes—_so like his lovely mother_—but obliged and pointedly chewed his food, announcing the completion with a loud swallow. "Did you and my mom have a fight?"

Killian turned back to the cooking food, formulating how to answer. "No, we did not." A fight would have involved actual conversation, something Emma had avoided since he'd awakened with her lips and body pressed against his.

_You didn't exactly attempt to speak with her either after that morning._

_I won't force her to spend time with me when she has no desire to do so._

The memory tormented him: the soft warmth brushing his lips, the weight of her body against his, the hope her tenderness sparked inside of him. The dawning horror that filled her eyes before she ran as if he were the devil himself.

_Perhaps I am._

Henry finished another bite, waiting until he'd swallowed—Killian noted with pride—to speak again. "Then why are you acting weird around each other?"

Killian turned and poured the last of the batter onto the hot surface, suddenly afraid the lad would see through his composed mask. "It's complicated."

"Are you going to leave us?" The question lacked accusation and malice, instead carrying curiosity and a hint of sadness.

_What altered memories did he carry to make him ask such a thing?_

_Perhaps it's time to find out._

"I have no intention of going anywhere. My home is here now, with you and your mother. Why do you ask, m'boy?"

Silence answered and it took a few moments—and a quick glance over his shoulder—to realize another mouthful of pancakes was to blame.

"My dad left. Before I was born, I mean. He doesn't even know I exist." No bitterness laced his tone; he accounted the facts as though the history did not belong to him.

The tale rang true, in spite of Henry's seeming detachment, matching the bits Killian had gleaned from Emma in both lives.

_That part appears to be unchanged._

Yet Killian knew something had to alter the boy's early years for him to have become the son of the Evil Queen. "I'm certain if your father knew of your existence, he would do everything in his power to find his way to you." While Baelfire had been a bloody fool to leave Emma in the first place—_how could anyone choose to leave her?_—Killian believed his words were true; wherever Bae and the rest of Swan's family were, they certainly had to be seeking a way back to her.

_Don't count it on it, Captain._

"How do you know that?"

Killian removed the food from the heat, placing the circles onto the serving plate with the others and catching the curiosity on Henry's face. _Perhaps the truth is in order?_ "Even heroes make mistakes. Those who fall down a darker path…" Killian looked away, suddenly unable to meet the lad's eyes. "There are few things worse than wanting to undo a choice made in the heat of a moment, a rash decision where the consequences haunt you." Killian cleared his throat, his appetite gone.

He'd chosen the wrong path far too many times.

_What if I am the reason Bae is not in this land with his son? _

_Would I have stolen his place for the chance to stay with Emma?_

_Bloody hell._

"And you think if my dad knew about me, he'd try to find me?"

"I do." Killian fidgeted in the kitchen, his hands itching to pull out his flask. He leaned back against the counter, waiting to see if Henry had completed his questioning.

"I don't think I'd want him to. He really hurt my mom. She almost gave me up because she thought it would be my best chance."

That had Killian's attention and he straightened, moving closer to Henry. "And why didn't she?"

The minute Killian had to wait while the boy masticated the remainder of his food felt more like a few decades in Neverland.

"She decided she wanted to hold me and Mom said once she did that, there was no way she could put me up for adoption."

_Bloody—_

It took all his willpower not to curse out loud, realization dawning, wondering why he hadn't seen it before.

Emma was happier in this life, less guarded, because she believed she'd kept the lad.

And when he finally restored her memories…

_You will destroy that happiness._

_And the lad's. How do you think he'll feel knowing his mother gave him up?_

The alternative—of allowing her to live a life based on lies, a life without her parents, Henry without his other mother—was equally distasteful.

_I will hurt them no matter which course unfolds._

Yet, he'd sworn to do so, the memory faint but there. Like a damned hero on a journey, he quested to rescue the beautiful princess—and her son—from their false life, to restore that which was stolen, return them to their loved ones, and attempt to win the fair maiden's heart in the process.

_Assuming she ever ceases her avoidance tactics. _

_Miss being a villain yet, Captain?_

"Are you okay, Killian?"

_No_.

Killian flashed a smile at Henry, hoping it covered his inner turmoil. "I'll be fine. I think I just require a bit of a walk to clear my head." He left the kitchen, walking to the closet and donning his long coat before returning.

_Perhaps a little time away will serve me well and give me the motivation to do what must be done._

"At least now I know why you dress like a pirate." Henry rolled his eyes. "Captain Hook."

Killian's smile transformed into a genuine one and he brandished his hook at Henry and the dishes before him. "Just remember our deal. If you renege on it and I learn you left your mother with the dishes, you'll find out just what I can do with this hook."

Henry scoffed, bestowing him with a cheeky grin. "You wouldn't hurt me."

_Never show weakness to someone who believes they hold the advantage, even if it is true._

"It's not you I'd be worried about, lad." The Captain persona was in full force, the smile turning sinister. "It's the cable to your Xbox."

The kitchen water was running before Killian closed the front door behind him.

* * *

At ten o'clock, Emma decided Killian wasn't coming back for breakfast—a breakfast he cooked, for crying out loud.

_Good_.

_If only you believed that._

Henry insisted on putting the leftovers in the fridge and doing all of the dishes.

They battled demons on the Xbox together.

At 3:30 the worrying began.

_You could call him._

She didn't.

By the time Henry went to bed—late, because he talked her into a second movie and more popcorn—the worry had morphed into anger.

_A walk, my ass. _

Emma nurtured the anger, feeding it, because it chased away the fear lurking in the background.

_What if he doesn't come back?_

The drone of the television—some cooking show—failed to hold her attention as the level dropped on the bottle of wine she'd opened.

She gave up when it rolled past midnight.

_Screw this._

Emma grabbed her phone, opening the app she used to keep tabs on Henry—there was a reason her son had his own phone. This time her eyes were drawn to Killian's icon, which was—

_Either he left his phone here or—_

The sound of the bolt sliding—barely discernable over the television—was her only warning.

_Shit!_

She quickly closed the app, tossing her phone away and clicking off the television. She turned on the couch, her body stretched out lengthwise, allowing her to easily view the kitchen and entryway.

The familiar leather-clad form strolled into the kitchen and—_fuck_—the longing and relief that washed over her almost doused her anger.

Almost.

She waited. The only light was in the hallway by the door and it probably blinded him to her presence; Killian never glanced in her direction as he went to the closet and hung up his coat.

She absolutely was not drinking in the sight of him—_of course he wore the pirate shirt with the plunging neckline and the leather pants that clung to him like a second skin_—cataloging every unguarded detail, from the fluidity of his movements and his wind-swept hair to the veil of sadness draping over him.

_Liar..._

Emma wanted to pull him close and chase it away.

_No. Stop that. You're angry. Remember?_

"That must have been some walk." She bit out the words, hoping the anger hid the hurt that she absolutely did not feel.

.._.liar_...

Killian's gaze whipped to hers, surprise on his face. Emma saw his mask—_he has more of them than I do_—glide into place, the sadness evaporating into a cocky eyebrow raise. "Keeping tabs on me, love?"

_Yes_.

"No, but it's common courtesy to let your roommate know if you're not going to be around for lunch. Or dinner." She sounded like a petulant child but she couldn't seem to stop herself, the faint haze of the wine eliminating her ability to care.

_Where the hell were you?_

His confusion was obvious. "Did I miss something? Did you attempt to phone me today?"

"No."

_I just thought about it a million times._

"Did you send me one of those blasted written messages?"

She almost smiled, remembering his cursing about how one hand and the autocorrect feature didn't mix well together. "I know better than to do that."

_I almost did._

He scratched behind his ear, shaking his head, his eyes looking around as though searching for an answer. "You'll pardon my confusion, Swan, but if you wished to know my plans yet sought no means to discover the answers, why are you so vexed at me?"

_Because you usually tell me when you're gone and I thought you might not come back._

Emma folded her arms, fully aware her behavior approached sulking, and scowled at him. "I thought… A phone call would be nice the next time you decide to spend an entire day walking."

The bitterness of his laugh sliced through her. "I thought I was doing you a favor, giving you the day with your son and removing the need for your extensive evasive tactics."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

_...pants on fire._

Another laugh cut through her heart. "And here I thought we had an accord, love." At her questioning look he continued. "That we allow one another our secrets, but if we choose to share, we will always speak the truth." His brow rose in challenge. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

_He's right._

"You usually call." Her anger abandoned her, her voice small. It was the only argument she had left.

Killian immediately softened, a question in his eyes. "I take it your son failed to convey my plans?"

This time Emma tossed the challenge. "I think his exact words were, "A bit of a walk."

A look of understanding crossed his face. "He did not tell you he called me after breakfast and that I told him I would not return until late?"

_That little… he knew?_

_My son and I are going to have a chat tomorrow about the importance of sharing information._

"No. He didn't."

He took several steps toward her. "Rest assured, love, if you ever have concern over my whereabouts, I am usually reachable by phone." Killian scratched behind his ear again. "Does this mean you no longer plan to avoid me, or should I render myself scarce?"

_Stay._

_Because that turned out so well the last time?_

"I was not av—" His pointed look stopped her and she sighed. "You live here too, you know. You don't have to run away."

He joined her in the darkness, his boots loud against the hardwood floors, amplified by the quiet room. He paused by where her feet rested on the couch, his gaze far too serious. "Of the two of us, I am not the one running away."

_Tell him the truth._

Emma swallowed, licking her lips. "I know. I—" she sighed again, "I'm having a really hard time controlling the compulsions, Killian. It was stay away or do something really stupid."

_Like kiss you again._

_Or tell you how much I like you and I miss you way more than I should when you aren't around and that's probably why I've been dreaming about you every night._

_Or I want to give in to whatever this is between us, but then you will have the power to destroy me, and I swore I'd never give anyone that power again. Because you'll leave._

He studied her—that damn "I can read you like an open book" stare—and Emma reacted instinctively, looking away and folding her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, making herself as small as possible.

His voice was low, weighted and heavy. "I actually would like to speak with you about that. Assuming you are willing. May I?" Killian gestured to the now available space beside her, brows raised in question and—_I shouldn't, I should force him to stay out of reach_—she nodded in response.

He sank onto the couch—thankfully the far end of it—and already Emma's body hummed as his unmistakable scent—_leather and salt and rum and something that is just him_—hit her, her fingers itching to touch him. She dug her fingers into her legs, fighting the urge.

_I have a bad feeling about this._

Killian leaned into the pillows, fingers fidgeting, his focus off in the distance instead of toward her. "Have you ever wondered where these compulsions of yours originate from?"

Whatever Emma had been expecting, it wasn't that.

"I just… I kind of assumed it had to do with the fact I can't remember the last time I had sex."

_It's more than that and you know it._

His entire body winced—_how was that even possible?_—but quickly recovered as though it hadn't happened. "Aye, there's that." He tossed her a curious look before turning away again. "Do you honestly not recall the last time?"

For a minute, Emma panicked.

_Fuck! Did I get drunk one night and seduce him and now can't remember and that is why some of those dreams are so damn real?_

_No. _

_I mean, I would remember if I—if we—_

He rubbed his forehead like he had a pounding headache. "I don't want the bloody details, Swan, just if you remember any encounters over, say, the last eleven years or so. A simple yes or no will suffice."

_Because this wasn't embarrassing enough?_

"I wasn't a nun, if that's what you're asking." She knew it with certainty. She hadn't been celibate. But when she tried to think of whom she'd been with or any details… the memories were blurred and out of focus.

_Except for the moments from her dreams._

_That's... weird._

His quick glance held enough heat to set her body on fire. "It's not. A woman as lovely as you would have no shortage of interested parties. I merely want to know if you can recall any of them clearly."

_How did he know?_

She shrugged. "Some of them probably weren't that memorable."

Killian's fingers formed a tight fist. "Surely you picked one partner who knew what he was doing? Even if the interlude was only a one-time thing."

"_That was…"_

"_A one-time thing."_

_What the hell?_

Then his eyes met hers again and—_oh my god_—the inferno within them sent heat straight between her thighs. "Is there a single person whose taste you crave, whose touch haunts your dreams?"

_You_.

_Oh my—_

_Think_.

Emma tried to shift her memories into focus, but the harder she thought, the blurrier they became, the images unrecognizable.

All of the faces but one.

She licked her lips, the memory of their kiss, his taste, still fresh a week later. And with the clarity and depth in her dreams—_hell_— she knew exactly how his scruff would scrape against her skin.

_Just you._

"I—

_You can't tell him that!_

Something changed in his eyes and for a second Emma _knew _he'd somehow read her mind.

Then Killian's eyes left hers, studying his hand and watching his fist loosen until his fingers danced. His gaze searched the ceiling, his teeth biting his lower lip. "Is there a single intimate moment burned into your memory between when your son was born and moving here?"

_That I can answer._

"No." And it didn't make sense, how her dreams allowed her to taste the salt on Killian's skin—_how can I crave what I've never had?_—but her memories remained vague, not even giving her the faces of those she'd slept with.

_What. The. Hell._

He rubbed his jaw, his face deep in contemplation, and when his eyes locked with her again, their depths swirled with a blend of desire and hope. "Do you remember the moment we met?"

"Of course I do." Emma answered the ridiculous question without thinking.

_It was only six weeks ago._

The fidgeting fingers were back. "Where did we meet?"

Emma raised an eyebrow at him. "What is this, twenty questions? You were there. You already know the answer."

He tilted his head, giving her a small smile. "Humor me."

She rolled her eyes. "At the docks."

"In what city?"

_Are you kidding me?_

"You know exactly what city! What is up with these questions?" A knot of anxiety began in her gut, whispering that something was very, very wrong.

"The city. What was its name, Swan?" His voice dropped, just above a whisper, but his face… Tension gripped his body now, a frown forming between his brows.

Her thumb wanted to smooth it away.

She glared at him instead. "This is ridiculous."

_Why would he ask questions he already knows the answer to?_

_Why don't I want to answer it?_

"The name, love."

"It's—" The name was there, it had to be. She just had to remember what it was. "Do you remember the name?"

_Why can't I?_

"No, I don't." He rubbed his forehead, a grimace upon his face.

Emma listened to her instincts a lot for her job—her gut as Henry liked to say—and trusted it to tell her what to do.

And right now about a million warnings triggered because she would bet her life that Killian was telling the truth.

"What do you mean, you don't remember? Didn't you have to buy a ticket or something to get there?" He'd come by boat—that she could remember—which is why she'd gone to the docks to get him.

"I have no memory of that either." His fingers pressed into his forehead and he looked like—

_Like he has the world's worst migraine._

"Killian, are you okay?" Emma couldn't stop herself anymore, her hands breaking away from her own grip—she could still feel the imprints of her nails—as she unfolded her legs and scooted toward him.

_That's right. Don't think about what he said; focus on helping him and everything will be fine._

His eyes closed, his face tight with pain. "Tell me, love, what is... your first…. memory… of me?" His jaw clenched, as if fighting to speak the words and a trickle of unease raced down her spine.

_What is wrong with him?_

Her fingers brushed at his brow, grazing the back of his hand before pushing away the lock of hair hanging over his forehead. Her thumb rubbed back and forth on his temple, his pulse pounding beneath it. "I told you, I picked you up at the do—"

"No." Killian suddenly moved, fingers encircling her wrist tight enough to leave bruises—

_It should bother me._

_It doesn't._

—and she watched him fight to open his eyes, finally succeeding, the determination and hope inside of them forcing a gasp from her. "When did you first… see… me? At what moment do your senses… engage… and the memory is... clear?" Sweat formed on his brow and she used the back of her free hand to wipe it away, desperately wanting to follow it with a kiss to take away his pain.

_Such a bad idea._

_Or a great one. Especially if it allowed her to avoid his question._

_Why do I want to avoid it?_

"Emma… please."

The plea in his voice broke through whatever mental block had been holding her back, and Emma finally did as he asked.

Images from her dreams raced through her mind, from the disturbing—_I'm holding a knife to his throat_—to the steamy—_his tongue needs a warning label_. Emma shook her head—_the answer won't be in my dream_s—and tried to go to that day on the docks. Black and white facts greeted her: he was coming in on a ship and she had to pick him up so he could ride with them to New York. They were in… Maine.

But…

_How did I get there? Why can't I remember introducing myself? Or leaving with him?_

Then she found it, the moment he asked for, when facts transformed into colors and emotion.

_Killian sat next to her in her bug—Henry in the back seat. He faced away from her and she could barely drive, unable to take her eyes off of her sexy new leather-clad roommate as she wondered what the hell her friend had gotten her into._

_Why can't I actually remember meeting him? It was only six weeks ago!_

"We were in my car, driving here. That… that's not possible. You didn't just poof into it while I was driving."

Somehow a strangled laugh escaped his pain and he released her wrist, his fingers returning to his forehead. "You have… no… idea."

_The way he said the words… like… he knew._

Emma stiffened, pulling away from Killian to the far end of the couch, even though her instinct was to comfort him and take away his pain. "You aren't surprised. Why?"

His battle to speak continued, each word physically forced. "I have no memory... of joining you… in your vessel."

_Truth. But why didn't he say so before?_

_What the fucking hell?_

Her brain fought to process the information, simultaneously dismissing this entire conversation as ridiculous, the other half wanting to dig for answers. Her gut screamed that Killian knew a lot more than he was telling her, but her survival instinct told her to drop the subject and forget any of this ever happened.

_Since when don't I want to know the truth?_

"That isn't possible. People don't just forget parts of their lives without something happening. I'm pretty sure I'd remember if we were in a car wreck or if we suffered dual head injuries or—"

_Ask him._

_No. Do not. Don't do it. Let it go. It doesn't matter._

"What is the first memory you have of me? Is it the same as mine?"

_Why couldn't you just leave it alone?_

It was the right question—or the worst one; she knew it the moment it left her lips and his eyes whipped to hers. Hope shined through his pain—_help him, touch him_—and... something else.

"No."

_Don't ask don't ask don't ask do—_

"Do you remember meeting me?" He didn't remember the town's name or buying a ticket, but maybe he—

"Aye." Killian answered without hesitation, but the lines on his face deepened, as if the pain grew stronger.

_Do something. Help him._

_Touch him._

_Shit._

Whether compulsion or compassion—_or something more but don't think of that_—Emma couldn't stay away. She closed the distance and her hands cradled Killian's face. His hand fell to his side as she gently turned his head toward hers. His eyes were closed again and—she couldn't stop herself—she tilted her forehead against his. "Tell me."

"It was…" His head jerked beneath hers—a_nother wave of pain?_—and she dropped her right hand, finding his fingers coiled into a fist so tight it shook. Her palm covered his, his skin hot and— "before."

Emma stood on a cliff, a bottomless chasm in front of her. She needed to turn away, to leave, to run far from the darkness below because—_I know_—his answer would surely shove her into the depths.

_Don't do i—_

_Screw it._

She squeezed his hand. "Before what?"

"Before I… traveled…" Killian's entire body shuddered. "Bloody h—" His sharp gasp brushed her lips, his body stiffening before going completely limp. He fell into her, his weight catching her off guard as she tipped backwards, his head eventually resting in her lap.

_What the—_

His chest rose and fell—_thank god_—and whatever pain he'd been suffering seemed to have left but—

—_hell?_

"Killian?" Emma shook his shoulder, trying to keep the panic out of her voice, barely remembering to be quiet so she didn't wake up Henry. "Killian? Killian, wake up. Hook? Hook! Come back to me."

* * *

_**A/N: **__**The dreams in the beginning are memories/dialogue either taken directly from Once Upon a Time or from my prequel, "Leaving Neverland."**_

_**I welcome constructive criticism. What did you love? What didn't you like? Have any theories on what happened? Authors don't lie when they say feedback fuels the muse...**_** ;-)**


	13. Chapter 12: Waking Up

_**A/N: A warning to readers: we have now entered into the time frame some call "summer vacation," but I prefer to call "what vacation?" It means my children are around (and I'm spending time with them) and are loud and all the stars must align (or they have to be asleep) for me to write. It is unpredictable at best. I do hope to update this summer, but I make no promises. **_

_**Then again, last summer my previous beta was as busy as I was, and now I have not one, but three fabulous betas (BirdofOrk, OnceSnow, and nowforruin) who **__**demand**__** I write the next chapter. Many thanks to them and the hard work they do to make my stories stronger.**_

* * *

**Chapter 12: Waking Up**

The pounding in Killian's skull reminded him of his darkest days—when the pain in both his heart and his wrist grew too great and he'd attempted to lose himself in rum. It stole moments of his life until he awakened with the devil dancing in his head and bruises on his body.

_Only this is worse._

_Bloody hell._

His thoughts scattered when he tried to grab them, refusing to coalesce into a clear picture, as if frightened by the faint buzzing that lingered.

Killian ceased thinking—_it's not doing any damn good anyway_—and welcomed the black—_it's warm and soft and smells of Emma_—allowing it to embrace him and make him forget the pain.

* * *

_Wake up wake up please wake up._

"Killian?" His name was hoarse on Emma's lips, her throat raw. "Please wake up. Come back to me."

The rise and fall of his chest—_at least he's alive_—was his only response. Had been his only response—except for a quiet groan over an hour ago—for the last three and half hours.

She'd tried threats and humor. She'd begged and pleaded. She'd even slapped him, desperate to get a reaction.

Exhaustion weighed on Emma, the week of sleepless nights catching up with her. Her panic and worry overpowered it, demanding she stay alert in case he woke up… or got worse.

_Maybe I should have called an ambulance._

_And tell them what? Your roommate passed out after midnight, smelling of rum, but yes, he's breathing fine and has a steady pulse?_

_I thought he'd be awake by now._

Emma couldn't do this all night. She needed sleep or she wouldn't be functional for Henry tomorrow—_I'm barely functional as it is_—much less for Killian. But the idea of going to her room while he remained unconscious...

_I can't leave him. What if he wakes up and needs help?_

_So don't leave him._

Emma debated the issue for another ten minutes before she finally gave in and carefully extricated herself from Killian. His legs were still on the floor, his upper body twisted on top of the couch cushions.

_That can't be comfortable. _

It took several minutes of tugging, finding the right leverage to lift him—_he's surprisingly heavy and so warm and, oh my god,_ _don't think about where you're touching him_—before Emma had Killian rearranged and stretched out on the couch, a pillow beneath his head.

_He looks like he's just sleeping._

_Then why won't he wake up? It feels like… more. _

She could come up with a handful of theories—all of them bad.

It was why she had to stop thinking about it.

Their last conversation replayed in her head and Emma immediately shoved it away._ I can't deal with that right now._

She tried laying down on the other couch—_his couch_—but found herself popping up every few minutes, certain he'd stopped breathing.

_I'll never get any sleep like this._

Refusing to consider the ramifications of what would happen when he woke up—_I just need him to wake up_—Emma squeezed into the tiny strip of empty space next to Killian. Gravity tried to pull her body off of the couch and to counteract it, she draped her leg over his and slid one arm beneath the pillow, the other over his chest. Her hand sought out his bare skin—_thank you, plunging pirate shirt_—and her fingers brushed through the soft hair until they settled over the steady rhythm of his heart.

_Please._

_Come back to me._

The reassuring beat and the warmth of his body lulled her to sleep in minutes.

* * *

_They are in his bed aboard the Jolly Roger. The tight space works to Killian's advantage, forcing her to partially cover his body with her own._

_Given the smile on Emma's face, she doesn't appear to mind. In fact, she presses closer, the soft fabric of her nightclothes unable to prevent her heat from seeping through. He trails his fingers along her side, up and down, savoring the hitch in her breath, the small shiver as he finds a sensitive spot._

I could live my entire life in this moment.

_Her scent intoxicates him_—_her hair has a fragrance he will never forget_—_and he can't resist rubbing the soft locks between his fingers before continuing his delicate caress._

"_Hook."_

Killian jolted awake, unsure of what had ripped him from the dream. It took him a minute to get his bearings, the throbbing in his skull rather insistent, but when he did...

_Surely, this is still a dream._

In fact, it mirrored his previous dream almost in perfect detail. Only the location had changed—their apartment instead of the Jolly Roger—and the Emma currently in his arms remained asleep.

She shifted then, a sigh escaping her lips. She hugged him closer, her hand branding his exposed chest as the leg slung over his body moved against him and—_buggering hell!_—brushed against his length, his body instantly awakening.

_So... this is not a dream._

_Perhaps it's best if you cease caressing her side then. Mixed signals and all that._

Killian stopped his hand immediately, removing his arm from around her back and hanging it in the air, uncertain where to place it.

The dream paled to the heady reality, something he should be quite accustomed to where Emma was concerned. Her scent was sharper. And the way she pressed against him, as if she...

_It's a blend of heaven and hell. Everything I want but cannot have until she remembers. Everything I might lose when she does._

To make matters worse, he had no bloody clue how they ended up here, which meant he could not accurately predict how she would react upon waking.

Not that this Emma was ever entirely predictable.

There was no way to disentangle himself from Swan without waking her, her body pinning him in place quite effectively.

The last time he'd held her in his arms, she'd panicked and run away, barely speaking to him for a week. He'd noticed the dark circles growing around her eyes, exhaustion taking over.

He'd suffered a similar affliction, his already short nights becoming almost sleepless, as the ache in his heart refused to grant him oblivion.

And Swan…

He blamed her bloody compulsions.

Killian would gladly remain her prisoner for the day if it helped ease her discomfort.

_You just want to hold her._

_Aye, that too._

_Yet..._

The hint of dawn painted the windows gray, which meant her son would likely awaken within the next hour or so. And if there was one thing Killian knew, it was that Emma would not be pleased if the lad discovered them together, no matter how tired she might be.

_Wake her it is. Now, if I only knew whether to expect one of those punches she's so fond of threatening me with..._

He struggled through the ache in his mind, trying to recall how they came to be in this position.

_You should thank me, Captain._

Bloody hell.

Yesterday's events flooded back, jumbled, the swiftness almost too much for the persistent pain in his head. Killian arranged the pieces in order until the clear path formed.

_Breakfast with Henry. _

_Doing more reconnaissance of this land. _

_A promising lead becoming a dead end. _

_The strange fellow forcing a card into his hand, offering him employment. _

_Needing time to think, to strategize the best way to lead Emma to the truth buried beneath the lies. _

_Finding himself at Battery Park, the only place he felt at home in this city, outside of his domicile. _

_Watching the ships sail by, missing the Jolly Roger. _

_Missing Emma—though he still glimpsed her every day—far more than his beloved ship. _

_Vowing to do whatever it took to play the bloody hero and bring back her memories. _

_Returning home to her worry and anger. _

_Trusting his instincts and guiding Emma to the obvious holes in her memories, avoiding mentions of magic or other lands, hoping to dodge the blasted spell that wished her to remain ignorant._

_The damned Evil Queen in his mind realizing his plans and trying to stop him._

_Emma's forehead pressing against his, her hand surrounding his fist, just before the world turns black._

Killian had been so close to telling her—

_What, Captain? That you're a pirate she found under a pile of dead bodies? How you lied to her to seek information and found yourself tied to a tree with her knife at your throat? That she was fully prepared to let you die at the hands of ogres?_

A sinister laugh echoed in his head.

Bloody—

_Yes, I'm sure Miss Swan would have fallen into your arms with such an insane tale. Be glad I stopped you from making a total fool of yourself. I hope you fix the damage you've caused._

Her Majesty's insurance policy certainly had a twisted interpretation of helping.

Emma shifted again, rolling her hips against his. Her thigh flexed, pressing her top leg firmly against his arousal. Killian groaned, unable to control it. He ceased thinking, his world narrowing to only her. His free arm wrapped around her back, fingers digging into her hip, as he pulled her tighter. Her fingertips aimlessly drifted over his chest, sending a shiver through his body.

It was wrong. All of it.

But he wanted to hold onto the moment, to her, afraid, always afraid it might be the last she gave him.

_It's not real._

Killian hated himself, his weakness, because he needed to stop this, to wake her.

_I can't._

He longed to taste her. Her lips were close, so close, and the barest head tilt was all he'd need to seal them against his. Then hers parted, another moan escaping, vibrating against his body, a single word forming, sounding like a plea.

"Hook."

His moniker was the cold sea, jarring him back to reality, even as something warm unfurled inside him and spread throughout, threatening to consume him. He feared the sensation, both dangerous and powerful, but it embraced him and Killian yielded to it.

It was all he had.

Hope.

It strengthened him and he loosened his grip on her, though he didn't move his arm. He tore his eyes from the temptation of her lips, raising his gaze higher.

Her eyes twitched beneath her lowered lids—the tell-tale sign of a dream—and he considered what it might mean.

This Emma had only known of his moniker for a week. She'd used it twice since then: once when he'd undone the closure of her dress using his namesake, the other time when she'd told her boy about his hook. For all intents and purposes, he remained "Killian."

"Hook." His name was a moan this time, and his body responded accordingly, demanding he answer her.

_Bloody hell!_

If he'd maintained any questions about the plot of her dream—_he hadn't_—this would have erased them. And while it was possible she dreamt of one of this world's incarnations of him—bloody ridiculous as they were—he doubted she'd developed a lust for perms.

And Killian knew—_knew_—dreams often held no bearing in reality, but the damned hope told him to believe otherwise. To trust that a part of her remembered him and—based on her labored breathing—their night together.

Yet even as he celebrated the breakthrough, a desperate, white-hot sensation shot through his body.

_I'm bloody jealous of myself._

It worried him as few things had. He feared he'd grown too fond of this fake life with her and the lad when the possibility of actual memories—_of us together no less_—could make him feel that way.

Killian wasn't the man she believed him to be and, no matter how much he loved the woman lying next to him, she was not the same Emma he fell for in Neverland. Neither of them was true versions of themselves and whatever existed between them could not be real.

_That's what you don't understand, Hook. Her old memories might not be real, but her new ones are. Maybe you should ask yourself why you're so intent on destroying her happiness._

The words handed Killian the clarity he needed in the blurred lines of this reality, though he was certain their intention was quite the opposite.

_A life based on lies can never be real, Your Majesty. Something I hope your counterpart learns one day._

Emma's body undulated against his again, causing a sharp intake of his breath. _Bloody minx._ Killian savored the feel of her as if it would be his last—between her avoiding him and the dangers lurking about, one never knew—and eyed the brightened windows. The dawn had obviously broken some time ago and the likelihood of them remaining undisturbed rapidly diminished with every minute that passed. He brushed his lips against her forehead, forgoing the much deeper kiss he desired.

"Wake up, sweetheart."

* * *

_Emma tries not to think about how the cold bodies she pushes aside were once alive, turning all her focus to the living one buried underneath. She isn't prepared for her physical reaction to the man, his eyes the bluest blue she's ever seen. She shoves away the feeling, her superpower tingling as lies drip from his lips._

_The lies don't stop when he's tied to a tree, the growl of something inhuman in the air. She walks away until his voice changes, a cocky confidence lacing his words that someone in his position shouldn't possess._

_Emma hardens herself against him, waiting for another lie—men like him always lie—but it doesn't come. His truths are dangerous—she can't trust him—and leaving him is the best option._

_She doesn't want to leave him; it's why she must._

_She convinces herself she merely beat him to it; he would have done the same._

"_Actually, no."_

_And, dammit, she believes him._

_She pays for betraying him—nearly dies for it in a dank cell—and unleashes her guilt and anger through her sword. He keeps gaining the upper hand and relinquishing it, going so far to as to save the heart he'd stolen. And when his body covers hers, the scraping of steel in the air, his heated innuendo more of a promise than a threat, she almost forgets why she's there. _

_The sand and the lake vanish and she's on a pirate ship, in his cabin. Her fingers grip his hardness through the soft leather, but the same teasing words are on his lips._

"_When I jab you with my sword, you'll feel it."_

_Emma's fingers tighten around him. His answering groan does delicious things to her body and drowns out any remaining fear that he'll turn her away. "Make me feel it, Hook."_

_She gets what she asks for as he traps her against the ladder, each nerve of her body firing as his mouth and tongue explore every part of her, driving her mad as he avoids the one spot begging for his attention._

_It's not supposed to be like this. He was supposed to plunder and take and make her forget._

_He wasn't supposed to give. To destroy her defenses._

_She feels too much._

"_Hook!"_

_She finally falls with a few brushes of his thumb, but it doesn't end. His mouth takes over with its magic and she loses herself again before her first orgasm has even ended._

"_Hook."_

_It is the look in his eyes, somehow uncertain and vulnerable even with the desire and need, that strips her bare. _

_Her walls are down. She's too exposed._

_His lips find hers as he slides into her, and it is so right, like he's the missing half of her soul. It scares her and she pushes the thought away, determined to let only her body feel, not her heart._

"_Hook."_

_It doesn't work. She can't handle it._

_She doesn't ask him to stay and regrets it the moment the door latches quietly behind him._

_Then she's alone in his bed and too tired to move._

_Only… she's not alone._

_She knows she should be, but she isn't. _

_She's warmed in the way you can only get from the embrace of another. She burrows into the heat—a blanket—but blankets don't groan. She stares at the empty space in his bed, wondering if she's lost her mind. _

_It hits her that her eyes are not really open, they are closed, even though she can see the cabin with perfect clarity._

_Something soft and real caresses her forehead, but she's afraid to open her eyes and leave this place._

"_Wake up, sweetheart."_

_Killian?_

Sleep had fused her eyelids shut and Emma struggled to open them as she followed his voice back to consciousness. Her world was still dark, heightening her other senses. That tantalizing scent of his. How their bodies molded together—_a perfect fit_—their rise and fall in tandem. The puffs of his breath tickling her forehead. His rapid heartbeat dancing against her palm where it rested on his hot skin.

_His hot skin?_

_Oh god._

She had just had the strangest, most erotic dream imaginable while draped all over Killian like a cheap suit. A dream with him starring as a sexy version of Captain Hook where—_fuck!_—if the hard ridge under her thigh was any indication, her body had tried to make at least some of it come true.

_And I have no idea if I talk in my sleep. Or moan in my sleep. Shit!_

Emma's cheeks burned with embarrassment, and she tried to shove it away as she pried open her eyes.

Blue eyes, cautious and tender, greeted her, and she forgot everything. After she'd spent last night unable to rouse Killian, he was awake, and relief slammed into her, a tidal wave of emotion threatening to drown her.

Any harbored doubts about how much Killian meant to her were washed away.

_Later. Deal with it later._

"Hey." She couldn't keep the waver from her voice, detectable even in the single word.

"Morning, love." His greeting rolled over her, gravelly with sleep, the low rumble echoing against her. She was sure he meant to be polite—as much as he could be when he found his roommate clinging to him—but—_jesus_—the tone perfectly matched the Hook from her dream and her body knew it.

_Yeah, this isn't going to be awkward at all._

"You're okay?" It came out as more of a question, because she knew he was the world's lightest sleeper, but last night… It was like he'd been in a coma. She'd come so close to calling 911 so many times, but something had stopped her.

"Aye." His eyes held her prisoner, his mask uncharacteristically ripped away, and—_dammit!_—they told her things she didn't want to know.

_Things I'm dying to know._

Banked fires still burned in his eyes—_do they ever die out, or is he really good at hiding them?_—and they lit his other emotions: happiness paired with sadness, relief laced with concern, and hope tainted by fear. They all swirled together as if he was overwhelmed, trapped by the one feeling she did not—_I do_—want to see.

Maybe she was influenced by the vivid dream, still fresh in her mind, its depth of detail too sharp, too clear.

_Yet_ _another thing to deal with… later_.

In the dream, Emma had pushed Hook away—and _he _was Killian, right down to the scar on his cheek and the nickname he'd used—afraid if she took that last step and let him in, he would destroy her. It left her dream counterpart empty and lost.

_A psychiatrist would have a field day analyzing that._

Maybe it was the compulsions, demanding to be heard.

Maybe she didn't believe Killian, that he truly was fine, and she craved reassurance.

_Maybe you just need him._

But, much like the other time she'd awakened in his arms, she couldn't seem to stop herself. _I have to._ Her right hand left his chest—she flushed as she realized her fingers had been unconsciously stroking his bared skin this entire time, lightly brushing the hairs covering it—and found his face, her thumb tracing the line of his cheekbones as the backs of her bent fingers grazed the scruff along his jaw. Her body lifted with his quick inhale, the fire in his eyes now ablaze.

"Swan, I—"

Killian shuddered against her as her thumb traveled along the curve of his ear before joining her fingers, curling around the back of his head just enough to pull him forward the few inches to meet her lips.

_Yes_.

The kiss was light, a whisper between them, as if they each needed the touch of the other for comfort—to survive—yet both feared anything more would break this moment, break them. His arm tightened around her back, but he didn't push her to deepen the kiss. Her pajama top had ridden up and some part of his hand drew tiny circles on her naked hip, the occasional contrast of his cool rings sending a tremor through her.

Simultaneously innocent and erotic, they both danced along the line she desperately wanted to cross because—_and it doesn't make any sense_—Emma had never felt so complete, so…

_Loved?_

And when Killian broke the kiss, moving his mouth just out of reach, tilting his forehead against hers with a sad smile on his lips, her instinct was to try to bring him back.

Stopping meant facing reality, having to deal with repercussions and ground rules and fear.

It meant losing the odd euphoria thrumming through her veins from his touch, as if all that was good and light and hopeful lived inside of her. As if… she could be happy. With him.

"Emma, I—"

Emma tugged more insistently behind his neck, but he used the press of their foreheads against her, denying her demands. She changed tactics and moved her hand toward his mouth, tracing the softness of his lips with her thumb. His eyelids fluttered closed as a moan tore from his lips and—_damn_—it was one of the hottest things she'd ever heard.

Killian's gaze found hers again, and—_oh god_—an inferno greeted her, threatening to consume them both—if not for the desperation holding it back. He closed his eyes again, as if to gather strength, and rasped out a single word. "Henry."

Emma froze, her son's name the equivalent of having a giant cooler of ice water dumped over her head.

_He's stopping me because of Henry._

_Henry is home._

She quickly glanced around the room, making sure her son hadn't snuck into the room while she… while they…

_What is this exactly?_

_Figure it out later._

It finally hit her how bright the room was, how clearly she could see the apartment. She hadn't noticed, the light likely filtered by clouds, her attention fully directed at Killian.

_Killian._

She whipped her eyes back to him, his wariness now shielding her from any of his deeper emotions. His arm no longer curved around her and she knew—_knew_—he waited for her to bolt.

_Open book._

Emma had to—_what would Henry think if he found them like this?_—but for the first time, she didn't want to run.

It was oddly exhilarating and terrifying, like the high from successfully shoplifting and pulling off the con she and Neal—

Once she thought his name—the memory, oddly clear compared to some others, hadn't been about Neal, but the con itself—she couldn't un-think it, her past tainting her present.

Sometimes it didn't matter what she wanted; it was more important to protect herself.

Killian wasn't Neal, but in some ways, he was worse.

Neal broke her, but Killian…

_He could destroy me._

She couldn't meet Killian's eyes as he raised his head without her asking, allowing her to remove her arm from beneath the pillow. Pins and needles prickled along her skin and she used gravity to roll her to the floor.

_At least I didn't knee him this time..._

Ignoring the stiffness in her muscles, she scrambled to her feet and backed away from the couch, not even sure what she was doing, just trusting her instincts to keep her safe.

_Say something._

_Like what? "Thanks for the cuddle, don't ever scare me like that again, and can we forget this ever happened?"_

_Fuck!_

"I can ensure your boy eats breakfast, if you'd like to get some more rest." Emma heard his pain, even with it wrapped in his helpful roommate voice.

It snapped something inside of her and she wanted to rewind, to go back to just… being with him.

_But I don't know how._

The time to run had passed the day he co-signed their lease.

And while hiding in her room and catching up on lost sleep sounded wonderful, she'd never be able to fall asleep. The last thing she needed was time to think about everything that happened the last twelve hours.

_Later_.

"I'll take care of it." Killian cooked far more than she did, and she took advantage of it far too often. "Thanks for the offer, I just… I need…"

She heard him stand, the clearing of his throat, still afraid of what she might do if she actually looked at him. "When you're ready to talk, Swan, you know where to find me." His footsteps echoed on the floor as he walked by her—_so close, but so far_—the sound fading down the hallway and ending with a door closing, so soft she barely heard it.

She pushed him away and was alone, just like the end of her dream.

Half tempted to follow him and do… she had no idea what, she found herself standing in the hallway outside of Killian's room when Henry's door opened. He stumbled into the corridor, his hair a mess, tufts sticking up everywhere.

He mumbled a greeting to her and disappeared into the bathroom.

_Saved by the kid._

Emma expected relief—he had probably rescued her from doing something _very _stupid—but it never came.

_And what did come..._

She dared not name it, the ache expanding in her soul, wanting…

_Killian_.

* * *

_**For those of you who take the time to review and share my fics—THANK YOU! You have no idea how much it makes my day and my muse sends its thanks as well.**_

_**As always, I welcome feedback. What did you like, what didn't you? Questions? Predictions? Feels?**_


	14. Chapter 13 - Wine or Rum?

_**A/N #1: Yes, it's been four months since I updated (sorry, I did warn you before summer started, but to make up for it, this is LONG chapter at 7800 words). Thanks to all of you that encouraged me to work on this and let me know that you were waiting. **_

_**A special "Happy Birthday!" shoutout to zengoalie, who just wanted an update for her birthday present. **_

_**Some dialogue is taken from Once Upon a Time and is not mine. Obviously the characters are not mine either, I just make them play together.**_

_**Much love to my fabulous betas: OnceSnow, nowforruin, and BirdofOrk who informed me I did not, in fact, forget how to write during the summer and always make my writing better.**_

_**Here's a super quick sum up of Chapters 1-12 (or you can reread it) if you've forgotten:**_

_Killian escaped Pan's curse with Emma and Henry and they all share an apartment in New York. Emma's memories have been altered and Killian cannot remember events that took place in Storybrooke. They are supposed to be "just friends" and follow the ground rules they put in place (see: lots of flirting and Killian getting new clothing), until one night a week ago when Emma kissed Killian. It was only due to skillful maneuvering by Killian that more didn't happen (he doesn't want to be intimate with Emma until she's the "real Emma" who remembers him). Emma woke up the next morning with disturbing dreams (which are memories, she just doesn't know that), promptly kissed him again, and spent a week avoiding Killian._

_Last night they finally talked (Chapter 12), only it's not about what Emma expected. She becomes aware (through careful questioning by Killian) that she can't remember the details of multiple memories. They are hazy. She also cannot remember actually meeting Killian, even though it was only six weeks prior. During this conversation, Killian develops one hell of a migraine (caused by Regina's "insurance policy" aka the spell where the Evil Queen has been "protecting him" from revealing things to Emma that might cause her to reject this life). The pain increases until he passes out mid-conversation with Emma, after telling her they met "Before I... traveled…"_

_No matter what Emma does, she can't wake up Killian and finally (worried and unable to leave him alone) she falls asleep on the couch next to him._

_Killian awakens and takes a while to remember how he got there (and still isn't sure why Emma is sleeping next to him). He wakes up Emma when it becomes clear she's having an erotic dream… about Hook (insert Killian jealousy with a dash of hope that Emma remembers the events of my prequel fic "Leaving Neverland")._

_Emma's dream are more memories that have been returning over the last week, only now they are more linear and less scrambled. Thanks to her dream, her worry from the night before, and the intimacy of the moment, she can't help but kiss Killian again. Emma is disappointed when he pulls away until Killian makes it clear it is because Henry will wake up soon._

_**Emma panics and Killian retreats to his room. And this happens: **_

Half tempted to follow him and do… she had no idea what, she found herself standing in the hallway outside of Killian's room when Henry's door opened. He stumbled into the corridor, his hair a mess, tufts sticking up everywhere.

He mumbled a greeting to her and disappeared into the bathroom.

_Saved by the kid._

Emma expected relief—he had probably rescued her from doing something _very _stupid—but it never came.

_And what did come..._

She dared not name it, the ache expanding in her soul, wanting…

_Killian_.

* * *

**Chapter 13 – Wine or Rum?**

"Mom?"

Henry's voice startled her—_how long have I been standing here?_—and Emma turned her head toward him and away from Killian's door, hoping the dark hall hid the blush burning her cheeks. She hadn't heard her son exit the bathroom and hoped he hadn't tried to get her attention earlier. "Yeah, kid?" she whispered, afraid Killian might hear them and find her there and—

"Why are you standing there?" The question was innocent, almost amusing because Henry sounded a bit like a frog whenever he first spoke after waking.

The thought made her smile even as her brain frantically spun for a valid explanation. She still grappled with the truth—_I can't seem to walk away_—and it wasn't exactly something she could tell her son. Thankfully, his stomach growled as if on cue and Emma blurted her answer out before she could think about it. "Breakfast. That is, I'm going to make it."

"You're going to make breakfast in the hallway?" Her son lifted his eyebrows as if paying homage to Killian—_he's gotten good at it, actually_—but it only strengthened the odd pull that wouldn't let her move.

_I can't leave things like this with Killian, but I don't know how to fix them either._

"No… I…"

_I just… I need to see him. After last night… I still don't know why Killian passed out or why he wouldn't wake up. That's all it is. I'm just worried. We're friends. That's what friends do._

_So the erotic dreams…_

_Are dreams. I can't control them. They aren't real. I mean, there was a giant and a beanstalk… _

_And you kissed him because...?_

_I need to get laid. _

_You've kissed him three times._

_I really need to get laid?_

_Li_—

"Mom?"

"I thought Killian might want to join us." The words were out before she could stop them. "For breakfast."

_Even though you basically told him to go away and give you space, what, five… ten minutes ago? You're going to give him whiplash._

_Wouldn't be the first time._

Henry blinked at her a few times as if she'd lost her mind—_it's possible I left it back on the couch_—before shaking his head. "You should probably knock then."

"I—" _Busted by the kid._ "I thought I... heard him snoring and I… didn't want to wake him up?" Her explanation came out more like a question and Emma had to fight back a wince.

Her son tried to do just one eyebrow this time—_he doesn't quite have that one perfected yet_—and shrugged his shoulders. "Can we have french toast?"

_Why do I feel like he's asking for a bribe?_

_Probably because you are lying through your teeth and you hate lying to Henry._

Still, it was Sunday, and french toast wasn't that big of a deal.

_Except the first three times you tried to cook it after moving here, it came out either burnt or gooey, like you hadn't made it a hundred times before._

_The stove was just… weird. I have the hang of it now._

"As long as we have the stuff for it."

Henry grinned. "Cool." He disappeared back into his room, probably to get dressed, the look on his face far too satisfied. He slammed his door—her kid still had the habit no matter how many times Emma talked to him about it—and it echoed in the hallway.

She knocked on Killian's door before she could change her mind.

* * *

Emma prepared to have the most awkward meal imaginable.

_Has Miss Manners covered how I should act after waking up in my roommate's arms—whom I really like, dammit—after a sex dream? A dream starring that same roommate?_

And that just included that morning. If she added how she'd avoided him for the last week...

_That's what I'm good at, running from relationships._

But it was like the last week hadn't happened and he just… fit_—_the only change being that they each invaded the other's space more than usual.

_We have a usual? An usual?_

_Distracting yourself with grammar won't work._

It was scary how much Emma had missed this, the simple act of cooking a meal like… a family.

_We make quite the team._

They created an assembly line of sorts in the kitchen. Henry set the table and microwaved cocoa for all of them while Emma prepared the french toast in a large skillet on the stove. Killian weaved around them both and prepped some sort of banana topping—_of course it contained rum_—that he'd read about. It was like a dance, the barest of touches here and there as he collected ingredients, their bodies somehow knowing the steps and moving in sync.

_Just like in my dream when we—_

Emma nearly burned that batch of bread.

She tried to keep her attention on the stove, her back turned to others as she cooked, but she couldn't stop sneaking glances at them.

Henry was just so… happy. A wide grin lit his face as he joked with Killian or warned her—again—not to burn the french toast. Watching them interact together did something to her heart, tugging on it, making it ache, like a hand reaching into her chest and squeezing it tight.

And Killian…

His hair was still damp from his shower and Emma could smell his soap whenever he passed by her, clenching the spatula tight in her hand each time to avoid doing something stupid, like pulling him in close and—

"Careful, Swan. Unless perhaps you prefer your meal a tad overcooked." His warning was just above a whisper and she quickly removed the slices from the heat and put them onto the serving plate. He gave her a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes before he turned back to his task.

_Is his headache back?_

The image of him passing out on the couch was far too vivid.

She waited for Henry to move to the table again before she turned around, stepping next to Killian and placing a hand on his left arm, feeling it flex beneath her fingers. "Hey, are you okay?"

His gaze whipped to hers, surprised, before leaving to focus on her son. "Nothing I can't handle, love."

Of course, now that Emma was touching him, she didn't want to stop, but there was breakfast to eat and Henry was around and—

"You'll tell me later." Her question came out as more of a demand and Killian rewarded her with a quick smirk and an eyebrow raise.

"You look good, I must say, using your commanding voice." He gave an exaggerated shudder. "Chills."

Emma's mouth dropped open even as an odd look crossed his face—_why did that sound familiar?_ She was about to apologize, or maybe give him some ridiculous flirty response—_because really, he practically handed me the opening_—when a giggle escaped from her instead. And once it started, she couldn't seem to stop it.

Her son eyed her as though she had truly lost her mind, particularly when he asked what was so funny and she only laughed harder.

This time the grin reached Killian's eyes and she tried not to think about why that was so important.

* * *

The day gave Killian a taste of the life he coveted. Emma's fingers often linked with his as she pulled him along—_her smiles are as brilliant as they are out of character for the woman I know her to be_—while they enjoyed an unseasonably warm day at the park.

_I'm going to destroy that happiness._

_It's the right thing to do._

He tried not to dwell on what course of action he'd have to take once the lad was asleep, how he'd have to continue to point out the holes in Emma's memories. He feared the Evil Queen in his head would somehow be forewarned and put a stop to any plans. It left him sliding into his roommate persona, losing himself in the role and in the pleasure of Emma's—and the boy's—company.

And the moments her eyes flickered with a deeper emotion, like Killian meant something to her…

He pretended those moments didn't exist, even as he fought his instinct to respond in kind, or to wrap her in his arms and kiss her senseless.

_It's all based on lies._

Instead, he imprinted each image to his memory because if he did succeed…

With each day that passed of this fake life, the higher the probability Emma and her son might never forgive him when they remembered the truth.

* * *

_I have no idea what the hell I'm going to say._

_You have about five minutes to figure it out. _

Emma hadn't been herself that morning, unbalanced and off-kilter from waking up next to Killian, her dream remaining vivid even after waking, unable to resist the pull that had only grown stronger between them.

_I want… this._

But nothing was that simple, and as they day wore on, she had a constant battle of wits against herself.

_That's what I get for falling asleep watching The Princess Bride three nights in a row._

And the Vizzini in her head knew exactly how to fight back.

Waking up next to—well, halfway on top of—Killian and wanting to stay there?

_You clearly want to choose the rum in front of him._

Opening her heart up, willingly, for the first time since Neal and giving someone the power to hurt her?

_You clearly want to choose the wine in front of you._

Watching Killian and Henry interact?

_You clearly want to choose the rum in front of him._

The fallout when things didn't work out and how losing Killian would devastate her, and more importantly, her son?

_You clearly want to choose the wine in front of you._

It didn't matter how many reasons she found to toss the ground rules out—_it's not like I've been following them since that night at the bar_—because each one had a counterpoint for keeping them.

It was a lose-lose situation.

_That's because both drinks are poisoned, remember? But in one option, you'd probably die a lot more satisfied._

_For the love of—_

No, she wasn't ready to make any kind of choice about them. Not yet. Not officially.

She needed answers first. About him. About last night. About… their... conversation.

So why did the possibility of those answers terrify her almost more than whatever feelings she'd developed for Killian?

"You seem vexed, love."

Emma froze mid-pace—_have I worn a groove in the floor yet?_—and twisted her head to where Killian casually leaned against the entrance to the hallway, arms folded across his chest. He still wore the same clothes from that day and the compulsion to take them off of him and test the accuracy of her dreams slammed into her. _Not now!_ A swallow lodged in her throat. "How long have you been standing there?"

He pushed off the wall and approached her as if she would bolt like a scared animal. "Long enough to know you could use a drink."

Emma blinked several times, finally dragging her eyes away from his—momentarily getting distracted by his chest hair on display—before focusing on the flask she hadn't noticed in his hand.

_You clearly cannot choose the rum in front of—_

_Shut up!_

She snatched the bottle out of his hand and savored the burn of the alcohol as she took several healthy swigs, trying to recompose the thoughts that had scattered when she'd seen him.

_I've had difficult conversations before. It's just ripping off another bandaid. _

_And a way to avoid a different conversation you need to have._

Needing to hold onto to something that wasn't Killian, she gripped the flask tighter, unable to hand it back. "What the hell happened to you last night?" Her words were harsher than she'd intended but she couldn't stop them as they rode the wave of odd anxiety that refused to leave.

His expression immediately became guarded and it only ratcheted her nerves even more. _He's hiding something._ "To what are you referring, exactly?

Emma took a deep breath, trying to calm herself—_Henry's asleep_—but could feel the flask shaking in her hand. Or rather, her hand shaking the flask. "You passed out while—" _while you were saying things that can't be true but I didn't detect a single lie_ "—while we were talking." She forced her eyes to his, needing to read him, to be sure whatever he said was the truth. "You wouldn't wake up, no matter what I did."

Killian's eyes darted around the room as he licked his lips, like he weighed what words to say—_he does that a lot, actually_. Her body didn't get the memo though because it swayed toward his before she caught herself, just as his gaze returned to hers. There was something in it this time, begging her to understand. "It appears recounting parts of _our _past can be quite… painful. Literally."

She didn't miss his careful enunciation of "our." Never mind their past only covered just over six weeks.

Or did it?

"_Do you remember meeting me?"_

"_Aye."_

"_Tell me."_

"_It was… before."_

"_Before what?"_

"_Before I… traveled…" _

_Don't think about it._

_But why?_

_You mean besides the fact that it's crazy?_

_He's not lying._

_Just because someone believes something is true, doesn't make it real. _

_But… _

_It means you're probably living with a crazy person._

"I apologize if I worried you, Swan. I was merely trying to help restore what was lost and failed to consider how the ramifications of that action might affect you." The pleading look hadn't left his eyes, though the banked heat he rarely hid from her sparked along her skin. His hook tucked a lock of her hair behind her shoulder and his hand covered her white-knuckled grip on his flask. _Warm. So warm_. "I cannot promise it won't happen again, but you don't have to worry about me, love." His hand squeezed hers. "I'm a survivor."

God, Emma wanted—_I need_—to kiss him. It would be so easy, all she'd have to do is lean forward and—

He released her, giving her a quick wink and backing away, and walked behind the kitchen counter. It took her a moment to realize he was gathering the makings for cocoa and she slid onto one of the stools, her hands still shaky, one still holding his rum bottle far too tight.

This wasn't how she'd imagined this conversation going. It created more questions than answers while giving her the sense he had told her what she needed to know. She just lacked the magic decoder ring to reveal the hidden message.

_And they say women are complicated._

"So that's… it. You pass out cold and I try for three hours to wake you up, and I start believing you'll just stay that way forever and you tell me you're a survivor and not to worry, but hey, it might happen again?" The words rambled out fast, the fear and pain and worry from the night before practically sky-written in front of her.

Killian slowly turned around, setting the mug in his hand down on the counter between them. Each movement was carefully measured, like he fought for control or waged an internal battle.

_I need to know._

_No, you don't._

"I know you, Swan. You want answers. And you can find them if you look hard enough at… this life. Just remember what we talked about." His words were calm, encouraging, the tone so damn familiar, contradicting the tension in his body..

"_I've yet to see you fail."_

_That was a dream. We met on the… docks._

_Did you really? You can't remember the city's name and neither does he._

_There's a perfectly reasonable explanation._

_What? Why can't you remember introducing yourself? Or leaving with him?_

"_It was… before."_

The moment Killian Jones entered her life should be burned into her brain, but all she had were fictional scenes from her dreams.

_A pile of bodies and the startling blue eyes of the man buried beneath._

_A… blacksmith?_

_No, a pirate. A lying pirate. Who saw too much. Who could…_

_Read you like a book. Like Killian._

Then he was next to her, his hand surrounding hers again as he gently twisted it, tipping the flask and adding some rum to the mug in front of her.

She bit back the words threatening to spill out, the weirdness of her memories bad enough without plagiarizing her dreams.

"_Is rum your solution to everything?"_

"_It certainly doesn't hurt."_

"_It was...before."_

"_Wait, you need me alive."_

"_Have I told you a lie?"_

"_When I jab you with my sword you'll feel it."_

"_Before I… traveled..."_

Emma wrapped her free hand around his wrist and held him in place, turning her head to search his eyes for the truth, and blurted the words out before she lost the will to find the answer. _Why wouldn't I want to know?_ "You said we met before you traveled. Before you traveled where?"

It only took a second for him to get her meaning as a flicker of hope lit his eyes. "Somewhere in this land where memories were… taken from me and—," he winced, "—and from… you."

She wanted to push him, to find out what the hell that meant.

_If there was a before, why can he remember it and I can't? How could someone target a specific group of memories? And why memories of him?_

_What else is missing?_

She wanted to bury her head in the sand and forget this conversation ever happened.

_Danger danger danger. _

But more importantly, she wanted to stop whatever caused the pain suddenly lacing his features. His muscles turned rigid beneath her grip as his body doubled over, the hand covering hers so tight she wondered if he'd somehow crush the flask they held.

It was last night all over again, and she couldn't let the rest of the night repeat itself.

"_Recounting parts of our past can be quite painful. Literally."_

_That's what he meant?_

_That's… impossible. Insane, really._

_You believe him._

_I really have lost my mind._

Emma didn't think, she acted on instinct. She needed to hug Killian—_kiss him_—but his hold on her hand kept her from being able to turn and face him. Instead, she slid off of her stool, turning the opposite way and rolling into his arms like a fancy dance move, until her back pressed against his front. _God, he smelled good._ She leaned into him, releasing her hand from his wrist and bringing it behind her until it found his hook. She tugged it—he didn't resist—until his left arm wrapped around her body.

His breath was ragged, the warmth of it caressing her face where he'd tucked his head. His body shook against hers.

"Swan?" She heard it then. The confusion. The hope. The promise of something…

"Shh… just… hold me, okay. And don't… don't think about… our past." This time she stressed the word "our," hoping his open-book reading skills didn't suddenly fail now.

His left arm immediately tightened against her, pressing her body even closer to his. His right hand directed hers to the counter before pulling the flask from her hand and putting it next to her mug. His fingers immediately laced with hers before curving his right arm around her middle, until she was fully surrounded by him.

It destroyed whatever armor she'd managed to wear to protect herself from hurt, from Killian, because this—it was everything she'd dreamed of as a broken teen. Of finding someone who understood her, who wasn't after what she could give them, but just cared about her. Someone who needed her just as much as she needed him.

_This is crazy. He might be crazy._

_If he is, then so are you._

Only their clothing separated their skin so Emma was acutely aware of how his body gradually relaxed around hers as their breathing synced together.

It was just a hug. Between friends. Good friends.

_It was more._

_So much more._

And she had no idea what to do about it.

* * *

The Evil Queen had wasted no time in punishing Killian for mentioning their lost memories. She had been livid when he'd forgone any attempt at subtlety and outright informed Emma that hers were missing.

At one point he wondered if his head might literally explode, before all ability to think fled.

The assault abruptly ceased, but the pain remained like wreckage after a storm, his senses darkened and silent. Time no longer held any meaning. It could have been five minutes or an eternity.

_Perhaps I'm in hell._

That was all there was, pain and darkness, until a warmth seeped into his body.

Killian wasn't prepared when his senses returned with the gentleness of a squall at sea, slamming into him with such force he crushed the object he held for support. An object strong as steel but covered in softness. One that smelled like...

"Swan?"

The scent of Emma, of her hair, was the first thing he noticed as the blackness faded from the edges of his vision. The second was how warm the front half of his body was compared to his back. The third…

Emma Swan was in his arms and Killian had no idea how it had happened.

_Again?_

It took him longer to realize his vise-like hold was far too tight to be comfortable for her, but his body had reacted accordingly, in full approval.

_Bloody hell!_

_You should be thanking me, Captain. _

If the Evil Queen was pleased, whatever he'd done couldn't be good.

_What the hell happened?_

Killian released Emma, fighting to put distance between them. His hurried actions must have caught her off-guard, her body falling into the space he'd vacated. Already dizzy from his movements, he pushed her away to keep her upright, going against his instinct to catch her and draw her back into his arms, afraid of what might happen. His mind still tried to piece together how she'd come to be there in the first place.

The heavy fog of pain objected to anything resembling thought, blackness clouding his vision as he swayed in place.

_I will not pass out and collapse on the floor. _

He almost missed it between the dancing black spots, the hurt in Emma's eyes before her mask pulled into place. He tried to apologize—_I don't trust myself right now, love_—but the words refused to come. All but one.

"Swan."

And the floor rose to meet him.

_Bloody_...

* * *

_Owowow._

This was what Emma got for trying to save Killian from giving himself a concussion.

_That'll teach you to play savior._

Her hip and elbow hurt the worst, having slammed into the floor. She'd probably have bruises on her body where Killian's had collided with hers and if the stinging of her palm was any indication, grabbing his hook had been a really, really bad idea.

_At least nothing is broken. _

It was, however, difficult to breathe with the full weight of her roommate crushing her against the kitchen floor.

If she'd had the breathing capacity or not been worried about how this was the second time he'd gone narcoleptic—_that sounded better than "passed out from talking"_—in twenty-four hours, she'd laugh. Because this was not what she'd had in mind when she'd imagined Killian on top of her.

And she'd imagined that quite a bit. Only he'd been conscious. On the couches. On her bed. On his bed. On a bedroll in the woods. On the bed on the ship in her dreams.

_You're avoiding the situation. Snap out of it._

Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside of her, but remained trapped by the fact she really needed oxygen.

_But if I don't laugh, I'll probably cry. _

"Killian?" His name was barely a whisper, even though Emma had meant it to be louder.

His only movement was the—_oh thank god_—rise and fall of his body with each breath.

_At least one of us is able to breathe._

She tried again. "Killian!"

Still a whisper. Still no response.

_No! Not again!_

She'd done the right thing this time. She'd believed—_or at least, believed that Killian believed_—that talking about their past—_crazy crazy crazy, we don't have a past_—had been the cause of his pain. She'd stopped instead of pushing him for more answers. She'd wrapped his arms around her and—

They were two broken pieces that fit together, healing each other.

And for however long it lasted, Emma was home.

Then he'd pulled back as if she was toxic and shoved her away when she'd followed and smashed that home into nothing.

_Only_...

She'd seen the regret in his eyes, the confusion.

And maybe if she hadn't been so hurt, she'd have worried how his eyes were far too dark, his pupils stealing away the blue. Maybe she'd have had a few more seconds to get into position as he'd brokenly spoken her name before his eyes rolled back and his body went limp.

Maybe she wouldn't be trapped underneath him now wishing she hadn't asked the question burning in her mind and received an impossible answer.

"_Somewhere in this land where memories were… taken from me and… from… you."_

Her mind rebelled at the very idea. She was happy here. With Henry. With Killian. With her life. Considering the chance that a large chunk of her memories was missing when other memories filled in the gaps… it meant that this life wasn't what she thought. Although it would explain the odd sense of déjà vu and the inexplicable instant connection with Killian.

_And what, your compulsions to do dirty things to him are because you have before and you want another taste?_

_Pretty sure that's back to the whole "I can't remember the last time I had sex" issue. Which fits Killian's crazy theory too._

_Just because someone believes something is true, doesn't make it real, remember? Let it go. Ignore what he said._

_Or what?_

_Or you'll ruin the good life that you have all because of a story that belongs in a fairy tale or a Bourne movie._

_Pretty sure I'm not an assassin or a princess. _

_So what? You'll keep asking Killian about your nonexistent shared past until he ends up coma? Good luck with that._

Speaking of her unconscious roommate, Emma really needed to get him off of her because shallow breathing wasn't cutting it anymore.

_Don't think about why you've delayed moving him._

First things first, she had to move Killian off of her. Then wake him up, and never, ever bring up or even think about his delusional belief that they shared a past before the day she...

_Found him in the car next to me with a vague recollection of picking him up at the docks in a town I can't remember the name of?_

_Oh for crying out loud._

She was so screwed.

* * *

At first Killian thought he was back on the _Jolly Roger_, feeling the rise and fall of his ship as she battled a storm.

But he always rode out a storm at the helm, not lying on the floor of his cabin.

And his floor was far too warm and soft. And it was fighting him, heaving as if to toss him away.

And it smelled like—

"I swear you weren't this heavy last night." The words were barely a whisper but he knew that voice.

_Emma._

And Killian was covering her body with his as her hand pressed against his shoulder and her hips bucked beneath his.

_What the buggering hell?_

His body failed to discern that her actions were more forceful and not sensual, instantly springing to life with the friction.

Perhaps if he'd been more cognizant—his head still hurt but the fog was gradually clearing—he'd have been the gentleman and removed himself immediately.

Instead, he froze in place, stuck on the conundrum of how the devil he'd repeatedly found himself in compromising positions with Emma, with no damned clue how he came to be there.

"Killian? A little help please."

Her words finally broke through to him that he was bloody well crushing her with his weight. He rolled off of her, grateful he was already sprawled on the floor as a wave of dizziness hit him even though he hadn't opened his eyes yet. Certain an apology was due, but unsure what he'd done, he said the only thing he could. "Sorry, love." It was likely woefully inadequate for whatever grievous act he'd committed, but it would have to do for now. Emma was close enough—their shoulders remained in contact—he could feel as much as hear her deep inhales. "Are you all right?"

She didn't answer him at first. Her breaths reminded him of a sailor's after being rescued from the sea, so he waited patiently for them to normalize. _How bloody long was I on top of her?_

"I've had worse." He could hear the edge of pain in her voice, no matter how she tried to hide it. "What about you? How are feeling?"

"Like I consumed an entire barrel of rum and was hit by one of those large transports." His head was by far the worst, but his entire body felt as though it had been pummeled.

"A bus?"

"Aye. One of those tall ones where the people sit up on the top deck."

"I know the feeling. From now on, we talk on the couch or when you're sitting down. I really don't want to come between you and the floor again."

_She tried to catch me?_

Stunned, Killian opened his eyes and turned his head toward Emma. She hadn't moved from the floor, her focus on the ceiling, her left arm casually draped over her forehead. She must have sensed his movement because she angled her head to face him, the small smile forming on her lips belying the worry in her eyes. "I'm glad you're awake."

If she'd been the real Emma, the one who knew he'd been a villain and a pirate, he'd have traced the line of her jaw with his thumb and leaned in closer to see if she needed the taste of his lips as much as he needed hers.

He didn't move, merely raised an eyebrow.

_Damn, even that hurt._

"Aren't you quite the hero, Swan."

Emma's answering laugh turned into a wince, though she obviously tried to hide it. "That's me. Savior of hardwood floors everywhere." Her use of her old title startled him—_did she… could she remember?_—even as he struggled to ascertain through the remnants of fog what she meant. She winked at him. "I couldn't let your hook damage our floors, could I? Then we'd never get our deposit back."

It took him a moment to realize what deposit she meant, parts of his first day in this city a bit of a blur.

Killian was certain she merely jested—she'd never shown an extreme concern for their flooring before—but he had to fight to keep the teasing mask in place. "Eager to be rid of this place so soon?"

_Rid of me?_

Her expression altered immediately, softening, and he swore her eyes flicked down to his mouth. "No. This is… I mean it's just." Her eyes were definitely darting down to his lips as her tongue slid along hers, moistening them in invitation. "This is home."

His body tensed, prepared to accept what she offered. What he'd longed for every day since that first kiss in Neverland. Killian forced his eyes closed, trying to recall why giving her what she clearly desired was wrong.

_Just one more kiss._

_It's not you she wants. It's those buggering compulsions._

"Emma… I —" He caught it then, the familiar scent of blood. He lifted his hook from habit, one centuries in the making, even though he had no recollection of using it as a weapon since Neverland.

A streak of telltale crimson painted the curved silver, a small segment still shiny and wet.

* * *

It was a blink.

Maybe three blinks.

A blink of time between the certainty that she was going to kiss Killian—_I never said I was good at being friends_—and him bolting upright and muttering a string of curses.

_What just happened?_

Emma saw panic in his eyes, the guilt and the worry. He scanned her body—sadly not in the way that she liked—desperately searching for something.

"Killian? What are you doing?"

She saw the relief when his gaze zeroed in on her right hand, though the guilt remained. "Give me your hand."

"What?" _Why could he possibly need my—_

"Your hand, it's cut. Let me help you."

—_oh_. "No, it's fine." Of course, now that he'd drawn attention to it, suddenly her palm was on fire.

Killian's hand encircled her wrist, bringing her hand between them and showing her the slice across it. "No, it's not."

_Hello, déjà vu. Why is this so—_

_Didn't you dream about this? Weird._

"I'm sorry, Swan. I never meant to hurt you." The regret in his eyes nearly killed Emma.

She used her other arm to push herself up so she sat next to him and placed her uninjured hand over his, unable to stop her thumb from caressing his skin. "Hey, it's not your fault. You were out cold. It was my brilliant idea to try to grab you by your hook when you fell." She smiled at him, needing him to stop blaming himself, to go back to… whatever they were now. "You don't get to take credit for my dumb ideas, especially when you aren't even conscious when they happen."

His stare moved to his hook and Emma saw it now, the blood—_my blood_—on it. _Good thing I'm not the queasy type._ "Perhaps it's best if you let the floor catch me next time."

"Next time?" Emma glared at him. "You are going to help me make sure there isn't a next time, buddy."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "And how do you propose I do that?"

"We're going to slowly walk to the couch together. You're going to put your arm around me and if you get dizzy, I'll help you sit back on the floor. Unless you think you should just crawl there?"

His obvious distaste at the idea of crawling had her choking back a burst of laughter. "I do believe walking will suffice."

She grinned at him. "Good. Then let's move."

Her body was not happy when she stood, muscles screaming in protest. She kept her smile pasted in place.

_Please don't let him pass out again._

Emma managed to help Killian to their couch without incident, trying not to enjoy how nice the weight of his arm was on her shoulder, the one place her body didn't ache.

She wanted to drag out the moment, not just because she enjoyed being this close to him, but because she dreaded what she needed to do next.

_Better get it over with._

"Be right back."

This time both of his eyebrows rose in question but she ignored them and went into the bathroom. She pulled a first-aid kit from the cabinet and returned less than a minute later, plopping herself next to him on the couch.

Emma swore she could feel his gaze on her and she opened the kit, setting a box of band-aids to the side—they'd last about five minutes on her palm. She grabbed the roll of gauze, a stack of gauze pads, some tape, the mini-scissors, a tube of Neosporin and the bottle of antiseptic, setting each one on the coffee table in front of the couch. Finally, she turned to Killian holding up her hand in front of him as she grit her teeth. "Okay, let's get this over with."

He had an odd look on his face, but she blinked and it was gone. He turned toward the things she'd laid out, studying a few as though he'd never seen them before. He picked up the bottle and twisted it until the label faced him. "Hydrogen peroxide. What the bloody hell is that?"

"_What the hell is that?"_

"_It's rum. Bloody waste of it."_

She shook her head to clear the images. "It's antiseptic. It prevents infection and stings like hell." Emma really wasn't looking forward to him using it and tried to force a smile. "At least you won't have to waste your rum."

She was unprepared for the sudden intensity in Killian's eyes, the hint of hope.

_I don't think he's that attached to his rum. He lets me steal a lot more than we'd ever use on my hand._

With a wink his expression changed, his voice far too seductive for someone twisting the cap—one-handed—off a bottle of antiseptic. "Lucky for you, I've some experience in this matter."

Emma gave him a wry look. "You didn't even know what hydrogen peroxide was."

The cap fell off, bouncing on top of the coffee table onto the floor. "Aye, but where I'm from, rum is far easier to acquire, and if I were to guess based on the label of this jar, less likely to kill me if I were to drink it."

_Where are you from?_

_Wait, what if the question makes him pass out again?_

_We talked for six weeks without any problems._

_Yeah, but he didn't exactly go into details from his past. Maybe you should wait until after he bandages your hand before asking._

She rolled her eyes. "Tell that to your liver." Emma nodded at the gauze. "Have you ever used that stuff before?"

"These particular items? Can't say that I have." She watched him separate one of the pads from the stack and put it on the table before pouring a small amount of the peroxide onto it. She stiffened, bracing herself, but instead of using it on her, he wiped the blood off of his hook. "You can often run low on supplies while at sea, and make due with what you have on... hand." His voice softened, like he was far away, almost as if hypnotized by his hook.

"Killian?"

He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, before discarding the used pad and repeating the process with another one, this time being rather generous with the fluid. He put the bottle back and grabbed the roll of gauze, using his hook and hand to expertly unroll and—ignoring the scissors completely—cut a strip free.

_No wonder he prefers that to his fake hand._

"You'll look for any excuse to use that thing, won't you?" She'd noticed the difference over the last week, even while avoiding him. How he could do things much faster now that he permanently wore the hook.

He smirked at her, wiggling his fingers. "Even I can't do everything one-handed, darling. Now hold still." He raised an eyebrow at her. "I've been told this stuff hurts like hell."

The irony of antiseptic—how using it often hurt a lot more than the actual injury it was used on—was not something Emma was a fan of, but it beat an infection. Killian's hook wrapped around her arm, bringing it closer to him and she shivered. "Henry says it helps if you blow on the cut when you use it." Another eyebrow quirked at her and she almost smiled. "Not much, but a little."

"Far be it for me to discount your boy's expert advice." The self-assured cocky attitude briefly flickered, revealing an apology, before it returned. Then his lips were gently blowing on the cut.

_Holy_...

She opened her mouth to correct him when fired burned her palm and she couldn't stop the cry of pain that escaped. He'd brought the soaked pad to the cut while she'd been distracted by his mouth and—

Emma stopped thinking as the burning faded from her cut, completely hypnotized by the concentration on Killian's face, the cool waft of his breath on her hand.

It wasn't until he shifted, discarding the pad and grabbing the strip of gauze that Emma realized the pain was gone and her breaths were a lot faster than they should be.

_He's better than morphine._

His eyes finally met hers and—

_Oh god_.

There were no words to describe what was in them, but the room was suddenly far too hot and if Emma didn't break the moment soon, she'd—

_See how talented his tongue really was?_

_Shit! Do something!_

"So what did you use?" At his confused look she continued. "On your ship. You said you had to use whatever was at hand?"

It was subtle, his eyes dropping to her lips for a moment before searching her gaze. _For what?_ Then he nodded and broke the connection, focusing on her hand and applying a line of ointment along the cut. "Articles of clothing, mostly. Preferably items no longer wearable, but I did have to sacrifice a shirt once after an… altercation injured multiple members of my crew." His gaze flicked to hers for second, full of the same heat that consumed her body, and his tongue ran along his lips before he began wrapping her hand. "For an injury such as this, I've learned a scarf works quite well."

_It's my dream come true. Literally._

It wasn't a scarf—_how could he know about the scarf?_—and the location was different, _they _were different but…

The brush of his fingers as he circled the gauze around her palm. The way his teeth tugged on the edge of the bandage and pulled it tight, before he tucked the end of it into the wrap.

The way his eyes looked up into hers, reaching a part of her she'd thought safe and protected.

_It was the second time the pirate had breached her walls in less than a day. First emotionally, with his lucky guess about her being abandoned and an orphan. And now…_

_She was dangerously close to doing something stupid with Hook._

_Think about Henry!_

"_And then?"_

"_Well then we run like hell."_

Running sounded like a great—no a fabulous—idea. Because dreams didn't just manifest in reality. She wasn't some _Minority Report_ Precog that could see the future.

_But instead of crimes, I only see fighting, flirting, and sex with Kil_—_Captain Hook?_

It was a ridiculous explanation but a lot less terrifying than—

"What is it, love?" Killian hadn't released her, his hook still wrapped around her arm. His fingers brushed her sleeve as his thumb stroked the underside of her wrist, a shiver coursing through her at the contact.

"I—"

_I don't want to run._

_He might be crazy. _

_Or I am._

The déjà vu, that she'd lived this before, was stronger than ever. It didn't feel crazy or wrong.

"_Perhaps we have, love. In a life you can't remember."_

_There's one way to find out._

Her eyes were drawn to where his hand caressed hers, but they didn't stop, continuing down the path to his forearm, covered as it usually was with a black sleeve. While Emma had caught Killian with his shirts unbuttoned twice now—Henry was the only reason she didn't jump him this morning—she had never seen his bare arms. Not once.

She'd always assumed it was because he was insecure about missing his hand, but maybe the shirts hid something else.

_A tattoo with a knife slicing through a heart, a name inscribed across it._

_Myra? Mora?_

_Milah._

It would be easy enough to prove it was all a figment of her imagination. She just had to look at his arm and see if Killian even had a tattoo, much less one with such an odd name on it.

_He wouldn't._

_He couldn't._

_What if he did?_

"Emma?"

If he did, it would change things. This… thing between them.

_It's real and it's pretty good. Whatever it is. I can't lose it._

_I don't want to run but I can't ruin this._

"Do you want to watch a movie?" She blurted out the words before she could second guess herself again, finally lifting her gaze to meet Killian's.

The earlier heat was swallowed up by the worry in his eyes and the intensity that always appeared when he tried to read her. "I thought there was more you wished to discuss?"

"Yeah, well that was before you passed out in the middle of a conversation." She gave him a pointed look. "Again."

His answering smile was the type to leave a trail of broken hearts. "Point taken."

"_Ohh, you're a tough lass. You'd make one hell of a pirate."_

_Stop it! This life is real._

"When Henry was little, I told him that a kiss could be magic." At least that memory was clear, as perfect as a photo posted on social media. She nodded at their hands,smiling. "I'd bandage him up, kiss his scrapes, and tell him they were all better. He'd run off giggling, like it had never happened."

_The memory was almost too perfect._

_Great, now I'm doubting everything._

"Careful, Swan." The flames were back in his eyes, like they had never left. "One could almost interpret that as an invitation."

It was too easy to say it, but this time her words carried a definite challenge. "So now you're going to be a gentleman?"

There was surprise, a flash of hope. Then his tongue slid along his lips as his eyebrow answered her challenge. "I'm always a gentleman." His head dropped to her palm instead of bringing it closer to him. "Though I'm quite certain—" his mouth was hot as his breath tickled her fingers "—you're the one who possesses the magic." Killian brushed against her palm in what had to be the most delicate kiss Emma had ever had.

_Breathe!_

The air Emma had been holding whooshed out of her all at once, followed by a quick gasp to replace it.

She was leaning into him, needing more, when the warmth left her hand.

She tried not to feel disappointed when he scooted a few inches away. He cleared his throat, leaning back into the couch pillows with a teasing grin and an expectant tilt of his head. "Now, I believe you mentioned something about a movie?"

Emma did the same, reminding herself that they still had ground rules—_technically_—and her emotions were too exposed to deal with changing them tonight.

_And Henry is home. _

_There's always tomorrow._

_Or next week._

Besides, there was nothing in the rules against retrieving his flask and teasing that they should name it "preciousssss" only to get a "what the hell are you talking about, Swan" eyebrow raise in return. Nothing that said she couldn't scoot closer to Killian while watching hobbits light off fireworks. Or lean into him as two wizards fought. Or finally give in to sleep using him as a personal pillow before the fellowship ever formed.

Nothing at all.

* * *

_**Review?**_

_**A/N #2 (SKIP if you DO NOT want to know – yet – why Emma doesn't question her missing memories more): One of my betas was annoyed with Emma for not wanting more answers about her memories, because Emma is the type of person who wants those answers. This hasn't been answered in the story because Emma and Killian don't know why yet, but I will direct you to season 1 OuaT, when the same thing happened to Mary Margaret when asked "How long have you been teaching?" "As long as I can remember." Never mind that she's barely 30 (if that), it is something you would normally question the lack of memory on. However in that case, a curse made her NOT question it. The spell Regina cast with the fake memories does the same. It encourages Emma to just accept that as truth, which is why Killian had to push so hard to get her to answer questions in the previous chapter and why she tends to push off thinking about it until another time.**_


	15. Chapter 14: The Wager

_**A/N: Some dialogue is not mine and is from Once Upon a Time.**_

_**Thank you to my lovely betas, OnceSnow, BirdOfOrk, and nowforruin, who always make my writing better.**_

* * *

**Chapter 14: The Wager**

_I'd quit while you're ahead, Captain. _

_Bugger off, Your Majesty._

Killian couldn't focus on the movie. Emma had insisted they watch it again—_the fourth such attempt in over a week_—because she'd fallen asleep before the halfway point during each viewing. He'd only acquired that knowledge during the third time, when he'd managed to stay awake for the entire four hours.

He'd wondered—still did—what truths lie within this tale, if a realm such as Middle-earth existed or if inaccuracies plagued it like his own story in this world.

The movie was apparently her new defensive weapon. The nights Killian tried to broach any conversation about their shared past, he found himself ensconced on the couch, her body only inches from his, and the same movie flashing on the screen. And considering how quickly she left their apartment if he attempted the same while Henry was attending school…

Emma was avoiding the truth. He wasn't entirely sure if it stemmed from self-preservation, from whatever spell or curse caused the memory loss in the first place, or from a misguided wish to protect him and their domicile's flooring.

_Or it's all of the above._

But without ascertaining the direct cause, Killian didn't know which tactic to use to break through those walls while dodging the Evil Queen's meddling.

_You can't hide from me, Hook. Careful or you'll really hurt yourself one of these days._

_That's a bit counterproductive. I can't very well protect the boy if I'm invalid or dead. You'd do well to remember that._

It was the only leverage he held against Regina's supposed insurance policy. He just had to find the proper way to wield it.

Emma's movements stole his attention. They were subtle, masked as a natural shifting of position, their intent only clear because of the pattern they had formed when combined with the previous evenings. When she stilled, the space between them had nearly vanished, their sides lightly brushing with the occasional inhale. It teased and taunted him as the familiar heat began to build along his side.

They were perhaps ten minutes in. If she replicated the previous nights, she'd wait another ten before leaning into him and laying her head upon his shoulder.

Killian wasn't sure which deity, fate, or sorcerer he'd angered—_or pleased?_—to curse—_or bless?_—him with such torture_. _

The Emma he'd known had never been—_what was the term?_—a cuddler, still holding a part of herself back from even her family.

Their new closeness in this reality danced along the edge of friendship, though it bore little resemblance to any friendly relationship he'd ever had—save the burgeoning one between them in Neverland. Even the real Emma had run from sharing true intimacy with him, allowing him to explore every line and curve of her body, but only if he cloaked his deeper emotions in physical pleasure. The new Emma had only become more demonstrative of late, a thief stealing any space he attempted to put between them as if she required his touch. Her actions were just innocent enough that Killian couldn't bring himself to pull away, compulsions be damned.

_Oh please, your pining is getting on my nerves. She's happy here and has given you enough doe-eyed looks to make me sick. There's no reason you can't enjoy it and protect Henry at the same time. You disappoint me, Captain._

_Restore her memories and I'd be more than happy to see what her heart tells her. _

Killian could practically feel her imperial scoff. _I'm only in your head, Guyliner. I can't affect Miss Swan. Nothing short of a memory potion could do that, but as you've learned, it's rather hard to come by one of those in New York. You need to accept that this life is her happy ending._

_You forget, my entire life has consisted of discovering how to make the impossible possible, or I'd have perished centuries ago. Why should this be any different? _Finding a memory potion in a land without magic paled in difficulty to killing the Crocodile. Just because he hadn't yet located one during his daily reconnaissance didn't mean he wouldn't.

_You'll ruin this life for her. Ruin Henry's life. I won't allow that to happen._

_Emma is already aware her memories are not what they seem and I'm still here. If she was to remove me from her life, she'd have done it by now. _

What would happen when her memories fully returned was another matter.

_Tell me, Captain. How do you think she will react when she's learned you've spent this entire time lying to her?_

Killian really needed to get better at masking his thoughts.

_I have not lied. Not once. _

_Half-truths and lies of omission are still lies._

_Yet, when I speak them, you persist in stopping me. I would think that it would be advantageous for you to allow me to restore what your counterpart replaced._

_Maybe I've given you brain damage, Hook. How could contradicting my role help me?_

_Because of who she is. The Emma I knew, the Savior, would seek out her family—Henry's family—if she remembered their existence. That includes Regina. Do you really think she wouldn't support an act that would lead to having her son back?_

Emma yawned next to him, stretching her arms into the air and leaning into him. Another yawn followed and when she ceased, her body was tucked into his, her head lolling on his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

It took all of Killian's control, his fingers clenching the pillow beneath his draped arm, to keep from embracing her. Not because Emma would reject such an advance—_I swear she's seeking it_—but because it was far too easy to forget this intimacy was based on a life that was a lie and likely driven by magical compulsions. The lines of reality blurred more with each day that passed.

As it was, he took advantage of the situation, accepting her smiles and touches because he was too weak to deny them.

He should excuse himself and retire to his room before the pattern continued. Before her hand found his leg and sent fire racing through his body while he struggled not to give into the flames. Before her breaths grew deep and regular and she embraced sleep. Before her body went limp and she slid into his arms, and he was no longer able to avoid holding her tightly. Before he surrendered—_is it truly surrender if you never actually fought against something?_—to the inevitable and drifted to sleep, unsure of what the morning would bring.

They were the only nights he slept more than a few hours, overriding centuries of ingrained sleeping habits.

Usually the loss of her warmth brought him instantly awake; the first time it had happened, convinced Emma was merely a dream, he'd nearly dragged her back to him, only catching himself at the last moment.

Normally—_I cannot believe it has occurred often enough to have a normal_—he feigned sleep until she'd returned to her room.

It was safer that way, given how the first two times they had awakened together on this couch, her lips had sought out his.

He'd trade his beloved ship to wake every morning next to her and have it be real. Not that he currently possessed anything of value to trade in this life—including the _Jolly Roger_—save the magical monetary account that had greeted him upon arrival in this city. An account that was dwindling rather quickly thanks to paying rent on two ridiculously overpriced—Bae's apartment in particular, given its size and state of disrepair—pieces of real estate.

He'd delayed seeking employment, hoping Emma's memories would start to return and they'd leave the city for… wherever they'd left. But with her fighting it...

Her arm slid until it rested along his leg and Killian couldn't stop the tremor it sent through his body.

_I should go. Before…_

_You ruin your future._

But he couldn't just leave, couldn't risk hurting her.

The only way to cease these activities would be to push Emma to do that on her own and hope when she ran, it wouldn't be for long.

_It's the right thing to do._

"Isn't there a way to move forward in this movie, Swan?" Pleased his voice hid his inner turmoil—though perhaps it was a bit deeper than usual—Killian gestured at the television with his hook. "You claim to have watched it before and I've viewed it once in its entirety. If you truly want to see it again, wouldn't resuming where you left off make that more likely to occur?"

Emma didn't look at him, her attention affixed on the screen, the slight stiffening of her body against his the only sign she'd even heard his words. "Maybe I just like to start from the beginning."

_Lie_.

"Or you're avoiding the real answer. Which is fine, Swan, but we swore no lies between us."

_That's rich coming from you, pirate._

_Not now, Your Majesty._

"You're right." Emma's voice was barely above a whisper, her gaze remaining on the movie. She clasped her hands together on her lap, her fingers fidgeting, but she otherwise she didn't move at all. "This… being here…with you. This helps with..." She cleared her throat before continuing. "With the compulsions."

_I knew it wasn't real. Bloody compulsions…_

It hurt more than it should have, given what they were to one another in this world. _Friends. Roommates._ Anything more was likely caused by something magical. But he had a role to play and he quickly donned his Captain's mask, wearing a smirk she'd hear even if she failed to face him as he brought his lips near her ear. "If you want to get close to me, you just have to ask." There was always a risk in flirting with her as the Captain—thanks to those damn compulsions—but when he laid his innuendo extra thick, this Emma was surprisingly predictable. He allowed his hand to release the couch, wrapping his arm around her as he tucked a lock of hair behind her shoulder. "There's no need to use the same movie as an excuse." _More. It needs more._ His fingers trailed down the outside of her arm and he kissed the outside of her ear with his breath. "I've a room not far from here, so if you'd like to join me, I'm sure we can find suitable entertainment."

Killian wouldn't have noticed the tiny shiver if she hadn't been pressed against his side, and for a brief second, he feared he'd gone too far. Then it quickly morphed into shaking as Emma erupted with laughter, her hand whipping up to cover her mouth as she muffled the sound.

His grin was genuine now as she shoved his side, shaking her head as she finally met his gaze, a smile upon her lips. "Seriously? Does that line actually work?"

He waggled an eyebrow at her, doing his best to leer. "I don't know, love. What's your answer?"

If the sound of her laughter was less intoxicating—or if his intent hadn't been precisely this—his ego might have bruised as she dissolved into giggles. He also might have noticed that she'd discreetly snagged one of the couch's pillows… before she scooted away and smacked him with it.

_I can work with that._

"Really, Swan? Attacking an unarmed man? That's just bad form." She eyed him warily, quickly jumping off the couch as he stood, grabbing the pillow he'd just been leaning on. "I prefer a fair fight…" Killian tilted his head, raising his eyebrow at her with another smirk. "Unless you care to surrender now?"

Emma had moved into fighting stance, brandishing the pillow as a shield. "It's not fair to bring a hook to a pillow fight."

_This is certainly a first. Are there set rules about pillow fights?_

"Afraid you'll lose?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Afraid of what will happen to our pillows."

_Our pillows._

He should back down and retreat to his room. Distance. That had been the plan.

But he'd survived this long by thinking on his feet, discarding old plans and adapting to new circumstances. Killian winked at her. "How about a wager, darling?"

Another eye roll. "I'm not having a pillow fight with you. I'm not twelve." There was something in her voice, a wistfulness behind the sarcasm, that gave away the truth.

"Aye, but you never participated in one growing up. Did you?" Her expression, so like the guarded disbelief she'd shown on the beanstalk when he'd talked about her abandonment, confirmed his hunch. The weight of the moment pressed in on them, far too serious and unbefitting for his Captain persona. He didn't wait for her answer and instead released the desire that always burned for her into his gaze and grinned lasciviously. "No matter. I'm delighted to be your… first." He lowered his voice, wrapping it in innuendo. "You never forget your first."

He barely caught the hitch in Emma's breath. She gave him an odd look before shaking it away, a smiling spreading across her face. "I'm sure you have lots of… pillow fighting experience."

He raised a brow at her, his smile softening a bit even as he maintained his smoldering pirate stare. "Actually, no. You'd be my first as well." He leaned toward her, widening his grin again. "Though I should warn you, you're unlikely to best me. I can count the number of people who've done that on one hand."

She muttered something too low for him to catch.

Killian couldn't explain it, the sudden powerful need to give Emma a taste of something apparently normal in this world that she'd been denied. _Just a little more…_ "But if you're too afraid of being… taken... by a man who has one hand, I—"

"What kind of wager?"

There was likely too much happiness in his smile now, but Emma was annoyed enough she hopefully wouldn't notice. "If I defeat you in a battle of pillows without damaging our weapons with my hook, you'll finally show me if those Orcs ate those hobbit-folk."

"That's it? You just want to watch _The Two Towers_?"

He had no intention of beating Emma this time—_I don't even know the damn rules_—rendering whatever he wagered pointless anyway. That didn't mean they couldn't have some fun. That Emma couldn't experience this moment. "Unless you finally wish to take me up on the offer to join me in the shower and wash my—" he ducked as a pillow flew at his face, barely missing it, "—that will suffice, yes."

"And what's in it for me? Other than new pillows when you lose?" She tossed him a challenging look.

_I love a challenge._

"Other than bragging rights? I won't complain about your choice of movie for at least a week."

Her expression told him if she'd been armed with another pillow, she'd have flung it at his face. "There's nothing wrong with my movie choices. You have no idea how many bad ones are out there. I should make you watch one of them when I win."

He grinned at her. "So we have an accord?"

"And you have to help me on one of my collars. Without complaining."

A twinge of concern raced down his spine. He'd offered to be her backup whenever she required, so her stipulation—particularly the part about him not complaining—didn't bode well. _Perhaps I should attempt to win._ "Deal." He shifted his feet, going into fighting stance. "Shall we begin, love?"

* * *

"_You never forget your first."_

It took Emma a few seconds to place the familiar words.

_A dream with Killia—Hook. They climbed a huge plant… almost like a..._

"_First beanstalk? You never forget your first."_

_Yeah, because a beanstalk makes sense._

She shook the similarity away—_people say that all the time about firsts_—and chose to ignore how perfectly Killian mirrored his dream counterpart.

_It's just a coincidence._

_And you never flirted back in your dreams… at least… not when that happened._

Emma hated to admit it, but she'd missed Killian's outrageous innuendos. They always made her laugh and were so over-the-top she knew not to take whatever he said seriously. He'd been... different since the morning she'd run from him, and hadn't resumed his ridiculous flirting when they drifted back into the "friendzone."

_You mean "roommates who sleep together on the couch zone?"_

_It's kept me from kissing him again, hasn't it?_

_You're still thinking about kissing him. Even right now._

_Yeah, but I'm not doing it. I'm just… flirting… a bit. See? Improvement._

_Right._

_He started it. I'm just having fun with it._

_Keep telling yourself that._

_Oh God, did he just say I'd be his first? I mean, he meant a virgin pillow fight but..._

_It's not like he hasn't had a lot of firsts with you. It's kinda hard to forget the pizza. The pancakes. The zipper. The cell phone. The subway. The_—

_I get the point!_

Killian leaned toward her, his grin widening again. "Though I should warn you, you're unlikely to best me. I can count the amount of people who've done that on one hand."

"Is that supposed to be funny?" The words were out, mumbled under her breath, before she had time to think.

_Why did I say—_

"_Good for you! You bested me. I can count the amount of people who've done that on one hand."_

_She turns back to him where he's tied to a tree, his sudden cockiness as he compliments her too… disturbing. "Is that supposed to be funny? Who are you?"_

"_Killian Jones. Though most people have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker. Hook."_

Her heart pounded now, and only part of it was because of the look in Killian's eyes.

_This isn't happening._

_Stop freaking out. It's not the first time. Remember when he bandaged your hand and_—

_I remember! Maybe it's just a joke everyone thinks of when someone only has one hand? It's not that I'm dreaming about the future or anything. That's not possible._

_Or… you're dreaming of the past._

_"Do you remember meeting me?"_

_"Aye."_

_"Tell me."_

_"It was… before."_

"But if you're too afraid of being… taken... by a man who has one hand, I—"

"What kind of wager?" She almost snapped out the words, needing a distraction from her thoughts.

_We never had any kind of bet in my dreams. It should be safe._

His smile wreaked havoc on her insides.

_Like jumping from the frying pan into the fire._

_Is it hot in here?_

The bet—if she could call it that—was barely a bet, and she suddenly had the overwhelming urge to kick Killian's ass. She just needed enough incentive to make sure she didn't lose.

"And you have to help me on one of my collars. Without complaining." She'd had the file on Grayson Collins for two days but no good way to apprehend him. An embezzler with a high bounty—supposedly he'd walked away with millions—he was known to party hard at a bar in Hell's Kitchen. A bar where a honey trap would work perfectly… only she wasn't the one who would work as bait.

_Killian's going to kill me when he finds out._

"Deal." His feet shifted, going into fighting stance. "Shall we begin, love?"

Because there was no way Emma was going to lose.

* * *

Killian's hook was more hindrance than help. Prohibited from simply snagging the pillow with it and disarming Emma, he could only duck or use his hook to deflect her rather zealous shots. His head ricocheted back as he allowed a particularly hard swing to break through his defenses to avoid tearing the pillow.

_She certainly has no compunctions about putting her strength into it. _

Emma's competitive nature was not unlike his own, but he couldn't bring himself to strike her with the same fervor, even with a pillow. Killian hadn't planned on winning, but it simply wouldn't do if he failed to be a formidable opponent.

_It's time to turn the tables._

"I must say, you're bloody brilliant, Swan." She grinned at him before he gave her an impudent wink. "But really, there's no need to take it easy on my account."

Emma's eyes narrowed with determination—_temper, temper, darling_—and she charged at him, winding up for what would likely be an even more vehement swing.

Killian waited until the last second to turn his head, certain she'd believe she'd made full contact with his face. He allowed the force of it to spin him around and knock him to the floor, where he rolled onto his back, eyes closed as he remained inert.

And waited.

"Killian? Oh god, Killian, are you okay?" Her feet slapped the floor and she was at his side in instant. Her hair tickled his face and he had to repress any reaction as a part of her body—her knee?—brushed his side. "Nonono." Her hands shook him. "Wake up. Please wake up."

The desperation in her tone twisted the knot of guilt that always resided within him where this Emma was concerned—_I never thought she'd react like this_—and he quickly opened his eyes. He saw the relief in hers as he forced a salacious smile. "Hey, beautiful." He used her confusion to his advantage and moved fast, grabbing her with his hand, his left arm wrapping around her waist. With her weight already leaning over him it was easy to roll her over his body and onto the floor, using the momentum to swing himself on top of her until she was trapped beneath him. He encircled her right wrist with his hook, leaving her other arm free should she wish to retaliate as he propped himself up on his forearm.

_Heaven… and hell._

_I believe I failed to think this idea through._

Comprehension dawned on Emma's face and she glared at him. "You cheated."

Staying in character was the only way to survive this encounter. He raised a brow at her. "Perhaps there's a bit of pirate in me, Swan." He smirked. "You failed to state any outright rules to this battle, other than banning me from harming the pillows, and subterfuge was never ruled out."

She squirmed a bit beneath him and his eyes nearly rolled back into his head at the contact.

_Definitely did not think this through._

Judging by the confidence filling Emma's eyes, she'd correctly ascertained who held the position of power here. "I think you're taking the Captain Hook thing a bit too seriously." Her lips twinged with what he could only call a devious smile and Killian knew he was in trouble. Emma arched her body as if to stretch, bucking her hips into his and releasing a breathy sigh as she did so. "But now that you have me captive, what do you plan to do with me?"

_Bloody—_

His body stirred instantly with her actions and if he remained there much longer the evidence would be impossible to hide.

_This isn't her. Play the part._

_Maybe it will jar her memory._

"Normally," he paused and licked his lips, "I prefer to do more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back." The phrase was almost ironic now, given how they had strategically avoided that position during their night together.

Emma studied him with a disconcerting intensity and something akin to… recognition?

A memory? Or déjà vu again?

_Does it matter? Either means the memories are buried beneath the lies. You only have to free them._

The flaring hope was dampened by jealousy of his Captain persona reaching where the real him did not. Killian wanted to question her, to see what she recalled, but given his propensity for passing out on top of Emma…

_Continuing as the Captain is the best option. _

"With my pride on the line, you've left me no choice. A bit of advice…" The next words lodged in his throat, the fight at Lake Nostos blending with Emma in his cabin, tossing his words back at him.

_When I jab you with my sword, you'll feel it._

"_Make me feel it, Hook."_

They might help her remember, but speaking the words to the new Emma—_she arches again, a small moan escaping this time and bloody hell!_—was wrong and he couldn't bloody well do it. "You might want to quit." Thanks to Emma's machinations, his last lines were more growl versus the slightly menacing tease he'd aimed for.

_Really... really… didn't think this through._

Disappointment flickered back at him, though it disappeared so quickly Killian almost thought he'd imagined it. Then he forgot everything as she ran her tongue between her teeth, her body shifting beneath his.

"Why would I do that—" Emma lifted her head until her breath teased his lips, "—when I'm winning."

She had done this before, unknowingly re-enacted shared moments of them, but this time…

_It's different._

"Swa—" Killian was cut off as Emma suddenly heaved his body upward, forcing him to release her and fall backwards onto his knees. He didn't fight her, knowing—hoping—he knew what came next.

_Come back to me, Emma._

Her smile beamed at him—_so happy, it's not quite her, but there's a glint in her eye_—and she tilted her head to the side. "Thanks."

The full force of the pillow slammed into his face—_it stings but is gentle compared to the metal of the compass_—and he yielded to it, falling to the side until he met the floor again.

_Missed you, love._

* * *

_Focus._

If Killian had been hoping for a giggling pillow fight he was going to be sorely disappointed.

Emma aimed to win.

The problem was, for a guy who claimed to have never been in a pillow fight, he had the uncanny ability to block her pillow with his own or duck out of the way. There was a fluidity and grace to his movements that spoke of some kind of training, like martial arts. Maybe fencing.

Killian performed a fancy spin move and—_dammit!_—she'd seen this before.

In her dreams. Again.

_He easily blocks the slash of her sword. She tries to kick him but his hook catches her ankle._

"_Good form. Not good enough."_

_Why can I remember my body sinking into the sand and that odd whirring in the air?_

Maybe Killian had taken sword fighting and mentioned it to her but she'd forgotten? And that was why in her dreams they—

_Pretty sure people don't get trained in sword fighting anymore. Do they?_

Killian's pillow bounced off of her shoulder, his grin far too satisfied, and Emma channeled her frustration into her movements, finally making contact with a series of hard hits.

"I must say, you're bloody brilliant, Swan." The smile was on her face before she could stop it and he answered it with cocky wink. "But really, there's no need to take it easy on my account."

_I'll show you easy._

Emma narrowed her eyes and charged at him, funneling all of her energy into her right arm. It paid off as the pillow slammed into his face. Killian spun around, falling and hitting the floor.

Eyes closed. Not moving.

_Shit! Not again!_

"Killian? Oh god, Killian, are you okay?" She was at his side in moments, begging for him to wake up.

_This wasn't supposed to happen again! It was just a stupid pillow!_

But when he opened his eyes almost instantly, the abruptness set off Emma's internal alarm even as relief overwhelmed her.

Seconds later she found herself on the floor, held captive by Killian's body.

_Dammit, he's fast._

_Always trust your gut._

Emma glared at him. "You cheated." Only their legs and where his hook wrapped around her wrist were in contact, most of his weight held above her by his right arm. Killian allowing her space was suspicious. Tactically it was weak and if she was right about him being trained in… something… then he'd damn well know it.

He raised a brow at her. "Perhaps there's a bit of pirate in me, Swan." A smirk formed on his face and, sure, she had seen it more times than she could count, but this one—_or is it the pirate comment?_—sent her sense of déjà vu into overdrive. "You failed to state any outright rules to this battle, other than banning me from harming the pillows, and subterfuge was never ruled out."

Emma tried to blink away the flashes of dreams that hit her.

"_You are a pirate."_

"_That I am. But I also believe in good form. And when I win your heart, Emma…"_

_At least the last bit is a dream imitating life, not the other way around._

_Stop! Focus!_

_I need to beat him at his own game. _

She wiggled a bit beneath Killian to test his hold on her, unintentionally brushing her hips against his and—_oh god_—she could hear the unevenness in his breath.

_Gotcha. You're going down, buddy._

_Just not where you want him to—_

_Shut up!_

_Two can play at the innuendo game._

"I think you're taking the Captain Hook thing a bit too seriously." Emma hoped her smile appeared sultry, hiding her real intent. She pretended to stretch, arching her body. Her hips rolled into his and a genuine sigh escaped from her. _More._ If she wasn't careful—_do you really want to be?_—she'd lose sight of her goal—_it's not like I'm going to have sex with him while Henry's here… right?_—and she needed Killian for the bounty. "But now that you have me captive, what do you plan to do with me?"

It was difficult to think through the lust clouding her mind—_it's just supposed to be a simple pillow fight_—barely aware enough to note that she'd been right: he'd given her far too much room to move. So either he didn't care if he won—_he's going to regret that_—or…

Or what?

Killian always had a reason for doing things—not that she knew what they were all the time—but hell if she could brainstorm a damn one while he was staring at her like a starving man just offered dessert.

_No, a pirate. A starving pirate offered dessert._

_Holy hell._

"Normally," his tongue ran along his lips and—_forget what I said about my dreams_—she'd give anything right then to have her dream from the ship's cabin come true, "I prefer to do more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back."

The comment was one she knew well, repeated countless times in her dreams over the last few weeks.

_Metal scrapes on metal, his hook and sword suggestively sliding down her own._

Emma had seen the scene enough that—_even though we have pillows and not swords_—she was certain she could predict what Killian would say next.

"With my pride on the line, you've left me no choice. A bit of advice…"

Her chest tightened—_am I breathing?_—as he stole the dialogue he shouldn't know.

The ramifications of what it meant were eclipsed by anticipation of what should follow. The same phrase that had led to the most erotic dream she'd ever had.

_When I jab you with my sword, you'll feel it._

Killian didn't speak. A crack formed in his cocky facade, the expression on his face threatening to change everything.

_I need him to stay._

_Say it, Killian._

Intending to nudge him along, she arched her back again, slower this time, savoring the press of his body.

_Did I just moan?_

_Oh god._

"You might want to quit." Killian growled the words, his teasing gone.

It reminded her of the days of watching a movie on television, where parts were edited out or completely changed.

Her planned response died on her lips—_make me feel it, Hook_—the cue for it removed entirely and she struggled to contain her disappointment.

_That's probably a good thing considering where it led in your dreams._

_Is it? I really need to get laid._

_You know he wants more. And so do you. Besides, Henry is home._

Emma embraced the last thought and it cooled her libido long enough for her to remember why she was beneath Killian.

_Pillow fight. Bet. You have to win._

_No problem. _

Thanks to her dreams, her dialogue was already written.

_At least they are good for something._

She slid her tongue between her teeth, drawing Killian's full attention as she reached for the pillow just out of her grasp. Another seductive shift of her hips put her within range and her fingers closed around it. "Why would I do that—" Emma quickly lifted her head so he wouldn't see her weapon, bringing her face so close his breath teased her lips, "—when I'm winning."

She expected shock or anger or disappointment from him. Not an odd mix of hope and happiness and something that really didn't belong: recognition. Like Killian also had a sneak peek of her dream script and she'd just nailed her part perfectly.

_That's not possible. _

There was no way he could see the future or share her dreams. Unless…

_Unless they are more than dreams. _

_"Perhaps we have, love. In a life you can't remember."_

_But that would mean…_

_End this. Now._

"Swa—"

Emma bucked her hips hard, heaving Killian's body upward until he released her and fell backward onto his knees. He didn't fight, didn't try to gain the upper hand, just… waited, giving her this encouraging look and it almost worked.

_It's a trick. It has to be. More_—_how did he say it?_—_subterfuge._

_Nice try._

_Fool me once, shame on you. Food me twice, shame on me._

She grinned at him, already imagining how fun it would be to tease him when he had to fulfill their bet. "Thanks."

She tried to ignore the small smile on his face—_it's wrong and doesn't belong unless he knows but if he knows then why doesn't he duck?_—and swung with all of her might, hitting him right where she planned, high and on the left side of his face.

It reminded her of a tree falling, the way he toppled over.

_Just like when you hit him with a compass._

_I didn't, I never… It's just a pillow._

But the chill of the compass cooled the blood pounding through her hand. She saw the source of the weird sound—_it's a swirling vortex of water a… portal?_—even though she swore she hadn't in her dream. And she was pretty damn sure that she wasn't alone with dream Killian.

Her eyes flicked to her roommate. Killian was on the floor, not moving, but his eyes were open and studying her.

The questions begged to be asked.

_Did I tie you to a tree?_

_Did we climb a… giant beanstalk? _

_No, that one is too crazy._

_Did we ever fight with swords?_

_Did we kiss in a jungle?_

_Did we fly—fly?—on your… pirate ship? Maybe "sail" would be better._

_Did we have sex against a ladder and on a chair and—_

_Maybe just ask if he's seen you naked instead?_

_That… it's just… a fantasy… because I'd never... we didn't… oh god, what if we did?_

The questions hung on the tip of her tongue and Emma wasn't sure if she was more terrified to hear yes—_how could I ever forget those things? that's not possible_—or no—_where I'm crazy and have lost my mind_.

"_Recounting parts of our past can be quite painful. Literally."_

_No. I can't… risk it. Risk him._

Emma swallowed the questions.

_There's always later. Maybe I can find a way to ask him more… discretely?_

_What, like tell Killian to make you feel it like he did before?_

_Oh..god… if… if it's true he's… we've… Shit!_

_Maybe that's why you've wanted to rip his clothes off since the day you… well the day you _think _you met him._

"Swan, are you all right?" The pira—Killian—hadn't moved from his spot on the floor other than to discard his pillow.

A trap? Another trick?

"Does this mean you surrender?" Her voice was way too husky, because—_dammit!_—she couldn't get rid of the image of his head between her thighs, her legs draped over his shoulders as he—

_Shitshitshit!_

_This is not happening. Things like this don't happen in the real world. Things in my dreams don't happen here._

"_It was… before… before I traveled."_

_The swirling vortex would take her home, back to Henry. And leave Hook behind._

_But he's here…_

_And a swirling vortex… really? _

"Aye, love. You've bested me…" His words trailed off, but she heard the silent "again" as if it was a shout.

Emma reached for him out of instinct, and his palm heated hers as she helped him to his feet. Then he was too close. _Not close enough._ The pull insisted she lean into him, until only inches separated them. And his look—the ravenous pirate lurking in the depths of Killian's eyes—matched the one she'd been imagining.

_Oh...my… Do something. Before you ruin things._

She listened to her gut this time, licking her lips before whispering in his ear. "Only because you let me win. Pretty sure you're not going to like the price of our little bet." Her lips kissed his cheek_—it takes all her control to make it there and not on his lips—_and Emma forced herself to back away. The line between them had blurred and she didn't trust herself to continue movie night. "Good-night, Killian."

"Good night… Emma." His voice was too soft, too… much.

_Yeah, later is good._

* * *

_**Review? What did you like, what didn't you? What are you anxious to see happen next?**_

_**For those of you lurking, I'd love to hear from you. **_


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